indigo_angels

A tale of six scars on Hannibal's body, five that Face knows the story behind, and one that he doesn't. Slash (obviously!), action, fluff, whomp, humour - bit of all sorts really!

Introduction

“Pack it in, kid,” Hannibal swats Face’s hand away and shifts the book a little over to the left, away from Face and carries on reading.

Face sighs. When he heard they would have the place to themselves for the weekend, nothing on, nowhere to go, he hadn’t envisaged that Hannibal would decide to reread The Thirty Nine Steps for about the twelfth time. Cover to cover. In one day. When they could be doing... other things.

Granted it was only 11.15am on the Saturday morning, and they had already fucked twice, once before and once after breakfast, but Face had decided that this could be the day they broke their record. Maybe he should have cleared that with Hannibal first...

So... he’d tried just waiting for Hannibal to kick things off again, assuming at first the boss had been in on his world record attempt, and when that had never materialised, he’d just asked. “Hannibal, are you seriously gonna read that book when you could be opening me up instead?” but Hannibal had only laughed and ruffled Face’s hair before flicking to page one and settling down in the recliner. Face had stood and pouted for a little while, but when it became clear that the boss was already engrossed in the start of the story, he’d just frowned and crammed himself onto the recliner next to him, jamming his body into the space between the boss’ ribs and the arm of the chair.

At least they were both nearly naked, the heat of the August day already stifling, and Face had let his fingers trail across Hannibal’s taught abdomen and down to the waistband of his shorts... which was the point where Hannibal had batted him away.

Face sighs again, which at least brings about Hannibal lowering his book at looking at him. Face, hopeful as ever, smiles his best seductive smile and waits...

“Face,” oh, that is so not a good tone, “I’m reading. If you want to stay here that’s fine. But stay still and stay quiet.”

Face’s entire countenance drops, “What am I supposed to do then?” he knows he sounds whiney, but really, he’s so disappointed that Hannibal would prefer a book, a book! to him that he can’t help it.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should read something as well, broaden your mind a bit...” and he turns back to London in 1914.

Another sigh fills the room and Face twists his head to the book shelves on the wall behind him. The next time he scams them a house he’s going to make sure that there are no books in it... He had been so excited to show Hannibal the master bedroom with its fucking enormous bed, and all the boss had wanted to do was stand in here and stare at all the mouldy old books. Face had watched, incredulous, as he’d trailed a finger along all the neatly aligned spines, tipping back the odd one to look at its cover. Then, when he got to the end of the shelves he’d started again, sliding a book out here and there, flipping through it, stroking the front cover, opening it up and smelling the pages! It had all been a tad disturbing...

It’s not like Face doesn’t read, because he does, when he’s on a plane, or when he’s waiting outside for Murdock at one of his sessions, when they are in some shit hole in the middle of nowhere with no Xbox or TV... he’s even read The Thirty Nine Steps because the boss told him to. But reading here, now, when there are better things to do - that’s just wrong.

“Face!” Uh-oh sounds as if Hannibal is getting pissed with him now... “Why don’t you go in the pool?”

He snuggles back against bare ribs, “No, its okay, boss, I’ll stay here and I’ll be still, and quiet.”

Hannibal looks at him, and he’s not sure if that’s disbelief or sympathy in those blue eyes, but in a

moment they are gone again, back into the book, and Face has to bite back another sigh as he sets about trying to fulfil his promise.

For a few minutes he stares out of the open patio doors and into the gardens. They are great, all secluded corners and hidden spaces; he’d really hoped they’d get to attempt some of their record breaking out there today... He feels his cock twitch against Hannibal’s knee and immediately drags his eyes back inside. He has to get his mind back on safer topics otherwise the boss will send him away and then the whole day will be utterly pointless. He glances down at himself to check that his slightly thickened cock isn’t obvious in his boxers and catches sight of that perfectly curved scar that runs around Hannibal’s knee.

He feels his lips tug up into a smile as they always do when he sees that scar; he lets his mind drift back to that night around the fire in Kuwait when Morrison, much to Hannibal’s annoyance, had told him the story of how it got there...

On to scar one...