The Proverbial Quiet One (stackcats) wrote in thewordsmithery,
The Proverbial Quiet One


Title: Never Too Much Information
Fandom: A Team (movie!verse)
Pairings: BA/Hannibal, Murdock/Face, eventual HBAMF (tiny bit of H/OMC)
Summary: Written for the kink meme and a prompt calling for BA being the only person who can satisfy the Colonel, because there's no one else strong enough. I took a liberty and turned it into foursome fic. Unfinished as of yet - my porn muse is sleeping and I need it for the final chapter.
Rating: Pure, unashamed porn
word-count: 7010 so far


Hannibal reaches back to grab the other man’s ass and tries to drive them closer, bucking his hips, tilting his head back, growling encouragement and trying to get himself into that groove from which there is no going back. It doesn’t really help. The guy is, apparently, doing his best. Hannibal mis-judged again, figured this one might be military or maybe an athlete of some kind, might know how to actually use those carefully toned muscles, but no. Once again he seems to have picked one of those guys who spends his life in the gym purely for the vanity of it. He really, really hates those guys.

“C’mon,” he shouts, unwilling to write the night off while there’s still a chance. “Harder, for fuck’s sake, harder!”

The guy - Jim? Something - pulls a fresh burst of speed from somewhere, and Hannibal thinks that might just be enough. He focuses on the sensation filling him, the hands on his hips, the teeth on his neck - and normally he loves a bit of biting, but it isn’t really helping matters here. Possibly-Jim is hung, too, and there was a time in Hannibal’s youth when that would be enough. It would, at any rate, free him from the other guy insisting and pleading and begging that he top. Usually. Few people are quite as hung as Hannibal, and he can’t really blame them for wanting to experience that, but fuck it. Sometimes, after a hard mission, after days on end of Face and Murdock winding him up, after meetings and paperwork and associated bullshit, he’s got a right to have his needs taken care of. Intellectually, he knows that. In every-day practicality he always finds himself pandering to his partner, whether it’s a relationship or a one-night stand. It’s why he no longer does relationships, why he hardly even bothers with the nights out any more. They always wind up like this.

With I-Definitely-Think-It-Was-Jim shooting his load and going limp against Hannibal’s back. Hannibal growls and shoves him away, flops onto his back and watches as the younger guy deals with the condom. He’s just reaching for his own cock when Jim drops onto the bed next to him and gives him a half-grin.

“Want me to help with that?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

Apparently Jim isn’t any good at sarcasm either, because he stretches out on the bed and rests his head on his hands. Hannibal glares at him. Fists his own cock furiously until he hits his climax - anticlimax, he thinks to himself - and notices around the same time that Jim has fallen asleep.



“Okay,” says Face, and holds out the straws. “You go first.”

BA glares at him. “No way. You’re playing us.”

Face’s expression of hurt and betrayal is very convincing. Any fool would believe it, but BA Baracus is no fool. Neither is Murdock, who folds his arms and shakes his head.

“I’m with Bosco. If you did the straws, there’s no way you’re gonna end up with the short one. Let me do it fair and proper.”

I’ll do it.” BA shoves them aside and picks three long strands of spaghetti out of the jar, snaps one in half, and closes his fist around them. Then turns back to the others. “Right. Now you go first, Face.”

Face narrows his eyes. BA holds an expression of casual innocence. It’s down to Murdock, who looks between them, bites his lip, and tentatively reaches out.

It is, of course, Face who pulls the short straw. No rematches, Murdock insists, no recounts, no poking BA on the arm until he goes instead. Between them they shepherd Face into the living room, where Hannibal has been trying to set his newspaper on fire with the sheer intensity of his gaze alone for the last hour or so. They push Face out into the middle of the room, then retreat swiftly to the couch and turn the TV on with the volume just low enough that they can hear every word that’s said behind them.

Face shuffles his feet, thinks about bolting. But he can’t. He wants to know what’s wrong with their boss more than he doesn’t want that glare turned on him.

“Hey,” he says.

Hannibal grunts. “Go away, Face.”

“Right, okay, sorry.” Face turns and meets the combined stares of his team-mates. Damn. He turns back again.

“Boss? Something on your mind? You took all... Um.”

“All what, Face?”

“All... handsome and leaderful? And grumpy too. Very grumpy. And as terrified as I am of the full force of your grumpiness, I... we are concerned about you.”

Hannibal finally looks up. “It’s none of your business,” he says. Face can tell his gentle tone is very much forced.

“I know we haven’t had a job in a few weeks, but something will come up.” Face gives Hannibal a playful smack on the arm. “Come watch TV with us?”

“No. Shoo.”

Face watches the newspaper go up again, forming a barrier between them.

“That was awful,” Murdock observes. “Out of the way, Face.”

Murdock clambers over the back of the couch and plucks the newspaper out of Hannibal’s hands. That earns him a carefully toned-down version of the glare. Doesn’t matter what’s bothering him, Hannibal is always careful of his Captain.

“You gotta tell us, boss. If you’ve got a problem, we’ve all got a problem. That’s what ‘team’ means, right?”

Hannibal attempts to out-stare Murdock. Normally, this would be a battle worth watching, but there’s a determination in Murdock’s eyes, and a weariness in Hannibal’s. The former Colonel breaks eye contact and snatches back his paper.

“It’s personal.”

BA’s with them now, the three of them surrounding him, the table behind him. No escape.

“Personal’s the worst kind of problem,” says Murdock. “Can we help?”

“No. Definitely no.”

That gets a raised eyebrow from Face and a frown from BA.

“You know we ain’t letting this go, boss.” BA takes the paper off Hannibal again, balls it up and throws it over his shoulder. “You been quiet all week. Tense. Frustrated?”

Hannibal laughs, a short, harsh bark. “Good choice of word.” He sits forward, hands on knees. “Boys, have you heard the phrase ‘too much information’?”

“Yessir, but there’s no such thing. We go round helping everyone else with their problems, we can at least listen to yours.”

“Will it get you off my case?”

“It might,” Murdock concedes. Face shrugs. BA just frowns more. “It’s certainly your best chance.”

“Fine. You asked, here it is. I haven’t had a decent fuck since...”

“Since?” Face prompts.

“You boys remember Major Hadley?”

There’s a moment of collective recollection. Face grins vacantly. Murdock fidgets. BA chuckles darkly. Major Hadley, tall, easy-going, built like a brick wall, quietly famous in a certain, very select slice of army society as up for anything and pretty much inexhaustible. They’d all had their encounters with Hadley, but the Major took a liking to Hannibal. And Hannibal to the Major. They were a pretty good match, but...

“That was years ago, boss. When were we last on the same continent as that guy?”

Hannibal shrugs. “It’s no big deal really. Forget about it now, please.”

“It’s a fairly big deal, boss, not getting what you need.”

“We’ve got more important things to worry about than my sex life.” Hannibal takes out a cigar, and clamps it between his teeth. Three sets of eyes widen. Murdock nudges BA in the ribs and stage-whispers into his ear.

“Sometimes a cigar’s just a cigar, but mostly it ain’t.”

The boys are forced to back off the issue once Hannibal goes back to his endless task of looking for clients. BA goes out to tinker with the van, and Face and Murdock trail after him, both of them feeling reflective, and a little sorry for the boss.

“We should do something,” Murdock says quietly.

Face shakes his head. “What? Get him a rent boy? I don’t think it’s pulling that’s the problem, guys - I know I saw someone leave his room the other day. And come on, he’s Hannibal. We’d all do him if we could, right? If it wasn’t for the rule.”

They all look at Face. Murdock leaning against the van, BA with one arm still stuck deep down in the workings of it. Murdock betrays his answer to the question with a quick lick of his lips. BA has gone very still.

“So what is the problem?” Murdock asks.

Face shrugs. “Educated guess?”

“I doubt we’ll get anything else out of the boss.”

“Well, I dunno, but you guys have seen him run. He can put half the track between us, and he’s what? Nearly fifty now?”

“Stamina,” BA mutters.

“Right, and strength. Boss can’t find anyone to keep up with him.”

They stand in thoughtful silence for a while. BA goes back to his tinkering. Murdock picks up a basketball off the driveway and wanders over to the hoop, watched all the way by Face, but the pilot seems to have no attention span at the moment. He shoots a couple of hoops, tosses the ball to Face and wanders back to the van.

“So what? We start vetting guys?” Murdock says, putting on a TV commercial voice. “Can you leave three healthy young Rangers in the dust? Enjoy vigorous sex and own a penis? Call now on-”

“Nope,” says Face, his eyes widening with the realisation. “No need. We’ve already got someone. Someone big and strong and entirely trustworthy.”

BA doesn’t look up, but shakes his head. “You already forgot the rule, man.”

“But you were thinking it!” says Face, triumphantly. “You know exactly what I’m talking about because you were thinking it!”

“I’m always thinking it, fool! Don’t tell me you ain’t.”

Face, to his credit, goes a little pink. “Yeah, but-”

“Yeah, but the rule. No screwing your team-mates. Right, Murdock?”

Murdock pulls a don’t-ask-me expression.

“Didn’t know you were so fond of rules, Bosco.”

“It’s Hannibal’s rule.”

Murdock nods. “S’true. He’ll kill us if we break it.”

“Oh, HM.” Face stretches idly, arching his back against the van. “Clearly you’re forgetting that weekend we spent together in Canada-”

“Shutup!” Murdock flaps his arms.

“And that whole week in Naples-”


“And the-”

“Shutupshutupshutup. All right. I humbly withdraw my objection.”

When he’s finished gawping at them, BA points out the flaw. “I’m guessing the boss don’t know about you guys? I think he will know if it involves him. I think something will give it away.”

“Was that sarcasm?” Face laughs. “Well, if you don’t think you’re up to it, big guy-”

“Nice try, Face. But did you ever think maybe the boss don’t want us interfering?”

“Look, it’s simple. You want him. He clearly needs you. Get on it, Sergeant.”

BA shakes his head. “You’re crazy.”

“It is a bit crazy,” Murdock agrees. “Face, there’s a world of difference between us foolin’ around and Bosco going after the boss.”

Face holds up his hands. “I’m not saying jump him. I’m saying work on it. See if he might be susceptible to a little rule change. And if that doesn’t work, then jump him.”

BA rolls his eyes and goes back to his work, tries to tune out Face and Murdock going on and on about the boss. It’s a really stupid idea. Pretty much the stupidest idea Face has ever come up with, and that includes drying his shorts in the sandwich toaster and burning down their last safehouse. To say approaching the boss would have to be done carefully is a spectacular understatement; Hannibal’s right hook in particular is fearsome to behold. But now the subject has come up, BA’s having a hard time getting that really stupid idea of Face’s out of his head. They’ve had this discussion before, the if-we-could-we-would talk, with Face admitting he spent the best part of his first year with Hannibal trying to get him into bed and failing in a variety of embarrassing ways, and if BA could succeed where the pretty boy failed... well, that would be a damn fine victory, wouldn’t it?

But he can’t pretend the fact that he’s considering it is even remotely about getting one over on Face. It’s about that kind smile, those clever hands, the frustration he could see in the boss’s grey eyes earlier. BA has never let himself be used by anyone for anything, but if it’s for the boss... that’s different, somehow. Different even than if it was one of these two skinny fools.

And then, just like that, BA has a plan.

“Damn stupid rule anyway,” he growls, and grabs hold of Face’s collar in one hand and the front of Murdock’s shirt with the other. “C’mon. Time to ‘fess up.”


Hannibal sighs wearily and closes the laptop he’s been working on. It’s purely the look on his face that silences Face and Murdock, who have been talking over one another for the last five minutes. The look does nothing for that weird expression on BA’s face, somewhere between smug and amused. Hannibal rubs his hands over his eyes and reaches for the stub of his cigar.

“So what you’re attempting to tell me is-”

“Shenanigans,” says Murdock mournfully. “We’re real sorry, boss.”

“No you ain’t,” says BA. Hannibal blocks out the others and focuses on him. It was BA dragged them in here, and is now leaning against the wall, arms folded, smiling.

“You involved too, Bosco?”

“No, sir.”

“But you felt the need to bring this to my attention...?”

“Yeah. A rule ain’t much use if it’s already broken.”

Face chokes out a laugh and looks up at BA. Murdock is still lost in a little world of guilt. “Thoroughly broken,” he says.

Hannibal switches to weary-father mode and shakes his head. “I don’t want to deal with this, boys. Go play quietly or something.”

“Not without you.” That’s BA. Hannibal nearly bites through his cigar.


Face’s grin extends from ear to ear, and Hannibal doesn’t like it at all. His boys are up to something and he wants no part in it, so he picks up the laptop again, and puts on the light, grey-framed spectacles he’s had to start wearing for long reading sessions. “Go away,” he says, not unkindly. “I’m busy.”

There’s a moment of silence, then a collective sound from the three other men. Face darts forward, lunging at Hannibal, but BA grabs him by the collar again, drops him to the carpet beside Murdock. Hannibal stares at them. They stare right back, Face’s fingers twitching.

“Specs,” says Murdock. “Spexy smexy specs.”

“Mmm,” Face agrees, and looks for a moment like he’s going to try and jump on Hannibal again, but there is clearly something going on here because he looks up at BA instead.

“You go on to the big bedroom,” BA tells them. My bedroom thinks Hannibal, but he seems to have lost the power of speech, deposed by the power of what-the-fuck-is-happening-here. “While me an’ Hannibal talk about the implications of broken rules.”

“Now?” Murdock protests.

“Yeah, now.”

“But you haven’t even-”

“Out!” Hannibal barks, and that’s it, Face and Murdock are gone. BA gives him a lopsided grin before kneeling down beside Hannibal’s chair and kissing him.

Hannibal resists at first, plants his hands on BA’s chest to keep him at a distance, keeps his lips closed as his brain works furiously. Bad idea. Really bad idea. And whose fucking idea was it anyway? He’ll find out and make them suffer. Later. Much later. Right now he’s a little distracted by BA’s hands on his thighs, and that seems like something he should deal with first. He shifts one leg. BA’s hand only moves further upwards and inwards, and ohgod he can feel solid muscle under his palms, the strength in those hands, the determination in the tongue fighting for entrance, and opening his mouth is pretty much the only thing he can do.

And that’s when BA stops holding back.


“Why did we have to leave?” Murdock whines. “I wanted to see!”

Face throws his shirt in the general direction of the laundry basket and clambers onto the bed. It’s been a while since they did this, but it seems kind of appropriate now, and Murdock curls easily up against him, threading his fingers through Face’s hair, as if there aren’t three years and half a world between them and their last night together. Face kisses him, running his hands down Murdock’s sides.

“We just had to,” he answers.

“That’s not a reason.”

“Because now it really is none of our business, HM.”

“Except we’re in Hannibal’s room.”

“Okay, so it’s not our business yet,” Face amends with a grin, and steals another kiss. “You remember Alberta?”

Murdock grins. He remembers right enough, the night in that expensive hotel room and the amazing room service and... oh yes, that. That must be what Face means. He’s just sliding a hand beneath the waistband of Face’s pants when a loud thud on the other side of the wall makes them both jump.

“Holy crap,” Face murmurs. “That didn’t take long.”

Hannibal is having a hard time letting himself go. He’s not thought about this, ever. In fact, he’s dedicated quite a lot of brain power to never, ever thinking about this, or about Murdock, or about Face, because he never enforces a rule without a reason, and this one has - had - a damn good reason. Sex and emotions are not as easily divisible as Face once spent an evening trying to convince him they are. Not to Hannibal, not to Murdock, and not to BA. This will get complicated. It almost always does. Complications and little alliances and unspoken jealousies and irrational passions can and do break teams apart and doom missions to failure. That’s why the fraternisation rules exist, and why his own rule exists. Existed.

If it was broken before, it’s dashed to pieces now, because no matter how hard a time Hannibal is having relaxing, he’s definitely not letting this opportunity get away from him. He grips the back of BA’s neck and holds on tight as he finds himself slammed up against the wall, and damn it all if he hasn’t wanted someone to do that for so long.

BA kisses him again, hard and forceful, biting at his lips just enough to send a thrill up Hannibal’s spine. He wants to give himself up completely, let go of the power he’s so used to commanding in every day life, just as he’s learned to do with strangers, but this is so different to that. As much as it pains him, he has to pull back, just for a moment.

“You don’t have to do this. You know that?”

BA nods. “Hannibal? If I thought I had to, I wouldn’t be here, still with you guys, to start with.”

“Huh. And you know this could make things difficult-”

“Only if it’s a one-off. Not if we keep right on doing it.”

Hannibal has to laugh at that. He slides a hand beneath BA’s t-shirt, vaguely recollecting a time when he had to break up a fight between BA and Murdock because the pilot found BA’s ticklish spot. He brushes his fingers lightly over ribs, getting nothing but a vaguely pleased smile. Nope, not there.

“You know what I want?” He murmurs, shoving the t-shirt impatiently upwards. BA pulls it off and drops it.

“I know, boss, and I’m gonna give it to you. You just hang on.”

BA takes Hannibal’s wrists in his hands and pins them to the wall either side of his head before leaning in for another bruising kiss. Tongue pushing in, drawing back to nip at his lips, pushing in again, each time meeting less resistance. Only when Hannibal stops fighting against his dominance altogether does BA settle in to kiss him long and hard, grinding his hips against Hannibal’s. Taking his power from him piece by piece, easing him into it, but the boss is still tense, even though he seems to be enjoying himself. The rock hard bulge in his pants testifies to that. But letting one of his men do this to him? The level of trust that implies overwhelms BA for a moment, and he lets go of Hannibal’s hands and draws back from the kiss. Hannibal pants for air, his lips red and swollen, a slight frown on his brow.


“Let go, boss,” BA kisses his throat, nips at the delicate skin above the clavicle. “Can feel you, you’re still tense.” He reaches between them and rubs a large thumb down the bulge in Hannibal’s pants. “Just relax, yeah? I got this. It’s gonna be fine.”

“Maybe if you call me John?”

BA chuckles. “Who ever calls you that?”

“People I hope are about to fuck me, mainly. ”

That big hand closes around Hannibal’s erection, and he lets his head fall back against the wall. It’s like wolves, BA thinks, and their social structure. Might be alright to let an outsider screw him, but Hannibal is still resisting the idea of one of his pack dominating their alpha. Maybe it’s better to ease him into it another way...

“You makin’ an assumption there,” BA growls. He slides a hand into Hannibal’s hair and applies firm pressure to the back of his head. “On your knees, John. You want a fuck, you’d better earn it.”

Apparently that’s struck a chord with Hannibal, because he licks his lips as he drops to a crouch. BA holds him back with that hand on his head, and unzips his own pants, pulls his cock out, and privately delights at the awed look on Hannibal’s face.

“Fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, trying to lean in. BA holds onto him for just a moment, enough to remind him who’s in charge, then braces himself with a hand on the wall. Hannibal wraps one hand around the base, and goes straight for the head of BA’s cock, taking it into his mouth and lapping with his tongue, taking in the heavy taste of the younger man. He’s all need and no technique at first, but then through the haze of lust he remembers - earn it - and gets to work.

BA is, to put it bluntly, huge. Hannibal already knew that. He’s seen the boys in the showers often enough to have developed coping techniques for himself. But eight years of freezing water and mental chess games with the Dali Llama later, he finds himself unprepared for the reality of getting his jaw around all that hard, delicious flesh. It’s been years since he did this for anyone he really cared about, for someone whose idea of rough sex isn’t holding his head still while fucking his mouth then coming in his ass after ten seconds. He wants to make this good for BA while he’s got an element of control left, and tries to remember his old techniques, swirling his tongue as best he can around that thick length, flickering tiny little touches against the underside, lapping at the slit. His hand slips round to palm BA’s balls, and that earns him a groan of appreciation. He pulls off, runs his tongue along the whole length, tries grazing him gently with his teeth as he draws BA back in. The other man’s hips buck involuntarily, and Hannibal thanks any passing gods for his long-ago tamed gag reflex. He opens his throat and makes what BA consideres a very valiant effort at taking him all in, but no one’s managed it before and neither of them have the patience to really go for it right now. BA pulls him off again.

“Next time,” he promises, “all the way. Right now? Do that thing with the back of your tongue again..”

Hannibal obliges eagerly. Follows orders, BA thinks with a grin. Now they are definitely getting somewhere. Hannibal tilts his head back and runs the underside of his tongue against the head of BA’s cock, keeping eye-contact with him as he does so, and BA shudders, his grip in Hannibal’s hair tightening, and Hannibal does something else, something new with the side of his tongue and that’s it. If he’s going to keep up with Hannibal and his now famous stamina, this is going to have to stop.

“Right,” he pants, “yeah, okay. I think you earned it now.”


It just isn’t working. Face and Murdock end up spooned together, still half-clothed, arms draped around each other. Just listening. It’s too distracting, and neither of them wants to miss hearing a single moment of it. There’s an audible thump as something hits the ground, and then BA’s delicious moans filtering in from the other room, and it doesn’t take a genius to work out what’s happening. Face’s hand tightens on Murdock’s arm and he tries to murmur something in the pilot’s ear, but Murdock shushes him.

There’s more talking, which neither of them can quite make out, and that just makes it even hotter. Face grinds his crotch up against Murdock’s hip, but he wants to hear this as much as the pilot. Just the thought of BA giving Hannibal the seeing to he so clearly needs makes Face feel weak and shaky. And very, very horny. He nuzzles against Murdock’s ear, feeling the other man’s quick heartbeat beneath his lips.

“Can we just go peek?” Murdock whispers as silence falls for a moment.

“Ohgod. No. We shouldn’t.”

“It was our idea!”

“My idea - wait, listen.”

Scuffling, more brief talking, then another thump against the wall. Murdock whines and shuffles back against Face, rubbing his ass against Face’s erection.

“I’m gonna come just from listenin’ to this,” Murdock whispers, “but we’ll tell ‘em we had mind-blowing sex too, right?”

Hannibal’s shirt has to go. They both seem to decide this at the same time, and the damn thing is pretty much torn from his shoulders, BA grinning and raking his eyes over the Boss’ torso. Face had once remarked that the boss had the body of a twenty-five year old, but that wasn’t true. No twenty-five year old was that weathered and scarred and sculpted by experience. Or had that generous dusting of grey hair, that deep, permanent tan, that effortless strength that’s only found in muscles frequently and mercilessly used. And no twenty-five year old BA has ever met is anywhere near as hot.

Hannibal pulls him back in, brushes his fingers lightly against BA’s belly, across his hip. Nope, no ticklish spot there. BA’s hands go for the button of his pants, but Hannibal swats him away and does it himself. Quicker that way. He pulls BA in for a kiss, then shoves him none-too-gently towards the desk where he’d been working ten minutes earlier. BA’s too far gone at this point to complain about the temporarily reinstated chain of command, especially at the sight of Hannibal getting rid of his pants and sliding his shorts down over his straining erection.

“Bottom drawer,” Hannibal prompts, leans back against the wall, and enjoys the sight of BA bending over to open said drawer, where Hannibal hides his secret stash from Face, serial burglar of condoms, lubricant, and any other sexual aids the others are foolish enough to keep lying around. Face never looks in the desk. The desk is where work happens.

BA comes back with the half-full tube, and takes a moment to appreciate Hannibal leaning there, ready for him. He has a fleeting moment of wow, I’m about to fuck my CO, but it passes. They’re very, very slowly getting out of the habit of thinking in terms of rank. This is, in fact, a big step in Hannibal’s re-education, letting his boys take full control, and yet it isn’t really about that at all.

“Hands against the wall,” BA orders. Hannibal shudders at the rough edge arousal gives his voice, and turns round, palms planted firmly against the wall. Spreads his legs. Watches over his shoulder as BA slicks up his fingers and his own leaking cock.

“Not too much of that, Bosco.”

There’s a deep chuckle behind him. “Don’t you worry ‘bout that. Said I know what you want, didn’t I?”

Hannibal is going to nod, or maybe say something, but all concept of coherent communication escapes him as BA grabs hold of his hip with one hand, pulling Hannibal back to meet his cock. Which he slides in with one fast, brutal thrust. Hannibal’s mouth drops open and he moans, loud and hoarse, loving the sensation of being breached and filled. The pressure, the heat, it’s incredible, beyond anything he’s experienced in years. BA pulls out again, almost the whole way, then thrusts in a little more, almost as though he’s teasing. But Hannibal works it out, and tilts his hips obligingly until BA finds that sweet spot that sends ripples of pleasure through Hannibal with every thrust. As soon as the angle’s right, BA grips both Hannibal’s hips with bruising force and starts a brutal rhythm, hard and fast, and it’s almost perfect, almost exactly what the Colonel needs.

Hannibal shuts his eyes and finally, finally manages to switch off that little voice in the back of his skull, the one that’s been telling him what a bad idea this is. He’s not convinced it’s going to work yet, but fuck it all, for the first time in years he’s having fun while doing this, and if he can give BA some pleasure then it’s more than worth it. Apparently that’s mission accomplished, because BA has turned surprisingly vocal.

“Oh yeah, Hannibal,” he moans, “so damn tight, man. Ah! How the hell you do that? Weren’t expecting that from you, knowing how you like it, you’re a slut ain’t you - tell me, boss, tell me you’re a-”

“Yes, god, yes,” Hannibal shouts. “Fucking give it to me, Bosco! Harder!”

BA quickens his thrusts, and Hannibal moans again, but the dark man can tell there’s something missing from it. It’s not exactly right, he’s not giving Hannibal everything he needs. He reaches round to wrap a hand around Hannibal’s cock, but the Colonel swats him away.

“Just fuck me,” he snarls. “Need it deeper. C’mon, big guy!”

BA tries to push himself deeper on each forward thrust, but Hannibal’s height seems to be the problem. He might be able to hit the older man’s prostate, but he can’t get the deep penetration Hannibal needs, at least not from here. He gives a few more hard thrusts then pulls out, causing Hannibal to make a noise BA wouldn’t have thought humanly possible. He wonders if he’s about to meet that deadly right-hook, but Hannibal just turns and glares at him.

“Hey! What’re you-”

“Shut the fuck up.” BA presses Hannibal back against the wall, bites down on his lip for emphasis, and then kisses him hard as his hands find their purchase on Hannibal’s hips again, sliding him forwards a little. “Deeper, you said. So quit fussing and let me take care of you. And hold on.”

Hannibal laughs, a little harmless expulsion of tension, and he slides his hands round the back of BA’s neck. BA grips the backs of his thighs, and damn it, he’s fast - he has Hannibal’s legs out from under him before the Colonel’s realised he meant actually hold on, and his back hits the wall with a thump. But BA’s got him, huge, strong hands taking his weight, pulling him up and forward as he instinctively wraps his legs around BA’s waist. He’s never done it like this before but he’s seen enough movies to conjure up the image of a big, strapping man taking the weight of a tiny woman, and he can’t help wondering if this is all going to go wrong.

“I gotcha, boss,” BA rumbles. “You certainly ain’t the biggest guy I ever took this way.”

“You’re kidding.” Hannibal lets himself be manipulated until BA has him in position, and he’s still got a pretty good view of the top of the younger man’s head. But the effortless ease with which BA handles him relaxes him substantially.

And then they’re lined up perfectly, and BA is pushing in again, hands on Hannibal’s ass, pulling him forwards. This time, it fucking is perfect, the fit, the friction, the closeness, BA’s hands pushing Hannibal onto his cock. Hannibal’s head falls back against the wall and he jerks his hips with BA’s thrusts, which are cautious at first, finding their balance, and then, out of nowhere, BA pulls a burst of power and he’s nailing Hannibal to the wall, pounding into him with a furious intensity that fills him and consumes him.

“Oh fuck yes!” Hannibal shouts, his nails digging into BA’s shoulders, hands slipping on sweat. “Oh come on, Bosco - aaah! - yes! Keep it going, big guy, c’mon!” There’s nothing he needs to ask for, except that one thing - that BA keeps up with him. He knows the boy too damn well - all that power, all that strength, but there’s a limit on duration. Laws of physics in action.

Then BA bites down on his shoulder, and that doubt can fuck right off. Hannibal’s already straining erection twitches against BA’s stomach, and his roar of pleasure makes BA laugh.

“You like that?”

“God yes. Do it again.”

BA’s teeth close over the same spot, alternately biting and sucking and tonguing, marking him. Hannibal’s back arches away from the wall, his legs tighten around BA’s hips, and he marvels at all that muscle beneath him. Rubs his foot against the back of BA’s taut thigh, down the back of his knee to-


And then they’re collapsing together in a heap on the floor. Hannibal has just enough sense left to avoid cracking his skull, but he lands awkwardly, on top of BA.

“Ah. Sorry, boss, wasn’t expecting you to do that...”

“What the hell did I do?”

BA grins sheepishly and sits back on his knees. Protecting the back of them from further attack. “Found my ticklish spot.”

Hannibal grins, but doesn’t get time to enjoy his little victory because BA grabs him and pulls him onto his lap. Hannibal lowers himself back onto that beautiful, thick, dark cock, and BA pulls Hannibal’s legs back around his own waist. It’s even deeper like this, BA’s balls against his ass and Hannibal’s cock trapped between their bodies, the friction of every little movement, from their breathing even, buzzing through him. He leans down to kiss BA, roughs a hand across his hair, strokes his neck, eager to get going again but enjoying the closeness of this kneeling position, the intimacy between them, regretting how little time he and BA have spent alone together in the past. BA seems to get it. Just like he’s instantly getting everything else today. He pulls Hannibal in for a deep kiss, then slides his hands under Hannibal’s arms and round his back.

“Hang on again,” BA advises. He waits until Hannibal has a firm grip on his shoulders, then pushes forward, dropping Hannibal to the carpet again, and at the same time he pulls the cushion off the desk chair and wedges it under Hannibal’s ass. Plants his hands firmly on the boss’ chest. Grins that lopsided, get-ready-for-it grin that sends wonderful shivers up Hannibal’s spine.

Hannibal answers with his own grin and a “Bring it, bitch.”

“Oh, you the bitch, man!”

BA finds that brutal pace again, hard and fast, the right combination to make Hannibal scream, but from here, he’s able to kick it up another notch, and the sound Hannibal makes is is nothing but a gasping whine in the back of his throat. He has to pant frantically for air, and when BA’s teeth connect with his shoulder again, in the same spot as before, he feels himself melt, the world fly apart, and all his doubts and frustrations evaporate. There it is. That damned elusive groove where there is nothing but pleasure, that easy slide into orgasm and -

Hannibal’s eyes flicker towards the doorway, drawn by a small movement. The movement, he realises, being Face losing all self-control and shoving his hand down Murdock's pants, jerking him off and pulling the pilot back against his own erection at the same time.

Holy shit. Two of his boys watching and pleasuring each other as the third fucks him. Hannibal can’t take any more than that, he’s done, eyes back on BA as he comes with a hoarse cry of fuck yes Bosco yes, semen painting white streaks across dark skin. BA is right with him, growling and jerking as he fills Hannibal with heat, shuddering against him for a tiny eternity, and then there’s nothing but their heavy breathing and Face’s panting and Murdock’s desperate little whimpers filling the air.

Hannibal lies there, holding BA down against him, riding the aftershocks, chasing those little ripples of fading pleasure. Then he grins. And starts to laugh.

“Oh god,” he chuckles. “That was... no, you are. You’re incredible.”

BA smiles against his lover’s skin. “Good enough for you?”

“Hell yes.” Hannibal runs his hands across BA’s hot body, slow and soothing. “More than. Fucking perfect, Bosco. Holy hell..."

BA kisses Hannibal once more before pulling out and rolling off. He lounges on the floor beside him as Hannibal stretches and luxuriates, and damn it all if the boss doesn't look ten years younger. That big grin on his face, all that tension gone, worked out of him, banished - at least, for now. BA's pretty sure it'll be back sooner or later. Oh well, he'll just have to help his Colonel relax all over again.

His eyes finally look up to fix on Face and Murdock, both of whom gain an extra shade of red under that dark gaze.

"We didn't know," Murdock mumbled, "didn't know if we shouldn't or... couldn't resist, is all, needed to see you guys... We're real sorry."

"No you ain't," says BA.

Face nods. He's let Murdock go, but looks like he's about to jump him again any moment. "Yeah we are,
cause now we're in trouble."

"It's okay," says Hannibal. He's found a cigar and a box of matches from somewhere, tucked the cushion under his head, and pulled BA into his embrace. "You're not in any kind of trouble." The other three watch as he lights his cigar, sucks on it, chases the smoke around his mouth. BA leans in and kisses his ear, inhaling as Hannibal exhales, loving the familiar smell of Hannibal's favourite brand.

"What do you say, BA? Reckon we should help these boys out?"

"I dunno," BA muses. "They got to sit back and watch us, so it's gotta be our turn to get a show."

"Mmm," Hannibal agrees. "I like that better. What do you say, Captain? Reckon you and Face can put on a show for us?"

Murdock nods enthusiastically. "I'll go get my sock puppets!"

Face grabs him by the wrist as he darts for the stairs, and pulls him back against his chest. BA and Hannibal have dissolved in helpless laughter, and Murdock reddens, temporarily derailed. Face kisses Murdock's ear as he murmurs against it.

"I think they mean a show without underwear involved, sweetheart."

"Oh. Oh! That's even better!"

Murdock drags Face back into the bedroom. Hannibal lies there with his arm around BA for a moment longer, enjoying his cigar, feeling the final echoes of his orgasm slipping away.

"Thank you," he says, quietly.

BA shakes his head. "Been wanting this for years, boss. We all have." He pushes himself up, leaning over Hannibal, and kisses him again, softly. "You want me to tell you exactly what Face is planning to do to you, or want it to be a surprise?"

Hannibal stares at him. "You all...?"

"Been waiting for you."

"Well, shit." Hannibal chews his cigar thoughtfully. "Should've got frustrated and moody sooner, then."

BA laughs. "Well worth the wait... John," he adds, with a smirk.

"Huh. Good. Okay." Hannibal pushes himself up off the floor. "Let's find our seats, I think I hear the curtain going up."
Tags: face/murdock, hannibal/ba, hbamf, the a-team

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