”Trust me Templeton, you'll grow and I'll just love watching it…”
Hannibal never forgot saying that to Face - could hardly forget the circumstances under which he’d said it - and it’s possibly the most accurate statement of fact he’s ever made.
Templeton has grown. He has grown beautifully, beyond even Hannibal’s wildest dreams. And he was right - Face has gained a few inches in the last three years, and he’s filled out his frame too. Tall and strong and fast, faster than any of his contemporaries, and a fuckload smarter too, no contest there. Hannibal couldn’t be more proud of the kid if he was his own son.
But he’s not the boy’s father. It’s so much better than that. One nagging worry at the back of Hannibal’s mind has begun to lay itself to rest lately. He always feared the kid might grow tired of him, might realise there were many, many men closer to his own age who’d gladly take him to bed, who could fall in love with him, but Face has remained his, and their bond has only become tighter, so intense that sometimes Hannibal has trouble pretending in public that he’s nothing more than the kid’s commanding officer and his mentor. Face is better at the act, but then, he’s proven to be an extremely clever little conman.
He’s proven himself as a lot of other things too. Loyal, brave, wholly trustworthy. He’ll risk himself for his teammates, he’ll push himself extra lengths to ensure he never lets anybody down, and even in their downtime he takes care of them, of Hannibal and the team, scrounging luxury items in the middle of nowhere, or coming up with drinking games, or teaching the new boys - because Face isn’t the youngest team member any more - how to cheat at cards. He’s a team player. He is, as General Morrison put it just the other day, a right fucking star. And the man had said it with affection, without a trace of irony.
Hannibal couldn’t even find it in him to agree, because the sentiment couldn’t come close to the overwhelming admiration he has for Face. For the love he feels for him. That, he can only show his boy at night, when they can be completely alone.
Like tonight, their first together in weeks. Mission wrapped up, and time to blow off some steam. The boys have been at the officer’s club for the past few hours. In fact, almost every officer on camp seems to be here, from the admin staff all the way up to the General himself, who’s right here beside Hannibal, laughing along with Lieutenant Price’s somewhat exaggerated account of the mission. Face is there with Price, correcting him on details, making the whole thing sound even more implausible and ridiculous, he and Price trying to out-do each other. Hannibal couldn’t be more delighted to see Face making and maintaining friendships within the team, and that just draws his own laughter ever louder, ever more free, as Face builds himself up into some kind of super sniper.
“And then,” Price says, holding his hands up dramatically - and Hannibal has just noticed, out of the corner of his eye, that there’s a pool going on the next table over how much of this is true - “Just when me and the Boss thought we were gonners, AceFace here-”
“Shoots the bullet clean out of the air with one of my own,” Face concludes, examining his own fingernail in faux-modesty. “It was nothing guys, honest...”
A groan goes up on the next table, as everyone tries to re-claim their cash. Morrison chuckles and shakes his head.
“John, I believe your boys are trying to bullshit me.”
“Not at all,” Hannibal grins across the table at Face as he picks up his beer. “Russ, honest to god, these men out-ran that explosion-”
“And saved all those puppies-”
“Oh,” says Price, “and we forgot to mention the hostiles were all zombies-”
“-except the werewolf squad,” Face adds.
At the next table, several people are cursing the boys’ names for all eternity. Russ just laughs again and picks up his own beer, free hand coming to rest on Hannibal’s back, rubbing slightly. Hannibal grins at his team and leans back into that companionable touch, solid and familiar, bumping his knee affectionately against Russ’ under the table. It’s nothing, represents nothing more than fifteen years of friendship, but Face locks on. The grin fades from his face as he stares across at Hannibal and Morrison, but what replaces it is... strange. Not envy, or anything of the sort. His boy is usually the jealous type, would normally be pouting and snipping and trying to get into Hannibal’s personal space if he sensed any kind of threat to his claim on his commander, but that look, right there?
It’s curiosity. Hannibal quirks an eyebrow at him, to which Face shrugs and goes back to bickering with Price over how many hundreds of kills they each apparently got.
But Hannibal is getting restless. He’s intrigued by the kid’s reaction, and, yes, okay, he’s getting a little fired up by that constant touch from his former lover, but it’s Face’s collar he grabs as he rises from his seat.
“C’mon, kiddo. Long day tomorrow, and you need your rest. Same to the rest of you,” he adds, mock-glaring at the team, who throw him appropriate mock-salutes in return.
“Good night, boys,” Russ drawls, throwing Hannibal a surreptitious wink.
They linger over their good-nights to the team. Have to, not much choice, can’t be seen rushing off together. But Face fake-stifles a fake-yawn, and Hannibal bundles him out the door, muttering about paperwork and training, the laughter of the rest of the team at their back as they step from the well-lit warmth of the officers’ club into the faint, fading chill of a spring evening.
There’s no one around, so Hannibal risks a hand on Face’s shoulder as they walk back to his place. They look for all the world like a young soldier and his older mentor. Nothing untoward going on here, folks! Definitely no homo. Just a nice stroll back to Hannibal’s place, where he fully intends to strip the lad, throw him onto the bed and proceed to -
Hannibal blinks out of his reverie. “Yeah, kid?”
“You’ve never told me what happened.”
“I tell you lots of things that happen. You’ll need to be more specific than-”
“What happened, I mean, with you and Morrison?”
Hannibal shakes his head. “Must’ve told you. I’m sure I did.”
“Yeah, kid. That’d be a pretty big detail for me to overlook. Therefore, we must have discussed it already. Therefore, we are not discussing it now.”
Face stares at him like he’s a difficult child trying to get out of a chore. “Nice try.”
“I’m just interested. That’s all. I want to understand.”
Hannibal shrugs. “Nothing happened,” he says. He opens the front door of their apartment building and bundles Face towards the elevator. And it’s pretty much true. Nothing happened, the end. But Face is not going to let it lie there unless he does something to distract the lad.
So as soon as the elevator door opens, he shoves Face inside, presses him up against the wall, and kisses him stupid while palm-mashing the elevator buttons with a free hand.
“Missed you, Temp,” he growls against soft lips. Bites at the lower one, gently, tugging, before diving back in to claim that mouth again.
“I’ve been by your side the whole time,” Face murmurs.
“Yeah, and that’s all that keeps me alive when we can’t be alone together.”
“Bullshit. You old romantic.”
Hannibal laughs, kisses Face again, one hand dropping low to grab the younger man’s balls, rolling, stroking with his hand. He can feel that Face is already hard, but he ignores that hot erection and presses his hand back, searching for that spot Face loves to be touched, and finds it, stroking up and feeling his cock turn to solid steel as Face gasps and whines. So vocal, his boy. So responsive and so, so beautiful...
Face wraps his arms around Hannibal’s neck and kisses him hard, one leg hooking up round the taller man’s hip. Hannibal withdraws his hand so he can buck his hips against Face, grinding them together, and reaches for the elevator controls again, finding the door close button just as the doors begin to part.
But right now he just needs, and Face is right there with him, chasing climax, wrapping around each other, touching and tasting like they haven’t in so long. Everything builds fast, each tiny touch between them sparking them higher, and Hannibal feels the weight of the last mission finally fall away from him as Face pushes back from the wall, shoving Hannibal against the opposite side of the lift. The kid grabs his ass, squeezes, slides his fingers across Hannibal’s tailbone and down, between his cheeks, brushing across that most sensitive area, and it feels good for a moment. But.
“C’mere, kid,” he growls, gathering Face up, pushing him against the third wall and pulling his legs out from under him. Face yelps and grabs hold of Hannibal’s shoulders, wrapping his legs around his waist. “Fuck,” he moans, as Face bucks his hips. He crushes their mouths together again, pushes in, chases the kid’s tongue with his own, drawing an assortment of wonderful sounds from the younger man as he ruts against his lover. One fist clenched tight in Hannibal’s hair, the other hand holding on to his shirt for dear life, Face does a damn good job of riding him even from his position crammed between the Boss and the wall. It’s one of the things Hannibal really loves about sex with Face - the kid’s a bottom, but he isn’t submissive, won’t just roll over, always puts up a bit of a tussle before allowing Hannibal to pin him down. And even then he doesn’t lie there and take it. He gives back as good as he gets, and right now Hannibal’s giving it to him pretty damn good.
It’s not long after that before Face falls apart, moaning John! as the first hot spurts of semen slick the skin of their bellies. Hannibal isn’t far behind. He takes them both in hand again, stroking hard and fast, drawing out their orgasms, mingling their release until there’s nothing left. He slumps forward, drops his head to Face’s shoulder and kisses his boy’s hot skin, panting for breath as they hold each other up.
“John,” Face purrs, hands stroking down Hannibal’s back. Hannibal kisses him. Softly at first, then deeper, everything more mellow now in the afterglow of orgasm. But that doesn’t last long. This has barely taken the edge off his need. What they have to do now is somehow get from the elevator to their apartment, half-undressed and covered in some pretty damning evidence.
“Let’s move,” he says, zipping up his fly. “Get you into bed...”
“Mmm, yeah.” Face kisses him, pushing him back towards the doors. “So many things I wanna do to you, Boss...”
But Hannibal knows what Face wants, and he’s already got his plan, so he silences Face with a gesture they normally use on the job, and presses the door-open button, hand ready over the close button just in case there are hostiles out there.
“Clear,” he murmurs.
“Of course it’s clear,” Face says, behind him, “everyone else on this floor is back at the club.” And if there’s a not of irritation in his tone, Hannibal misses it entirely. He’s too busy pulling out his keys and charging towards the apartment door like his life depends on it.