Motivation - H/F - Part 4

With the Friday night traffic the way it was, it was just over three hours before Hannibal turned his rental car into the lot of the hotel. He saw Dougie’s Vanquish in a space across the way and sighed in relief, well that was one nightmare scenario he no longer had to think about. The sun had just dipped below the level of the high rises, bringing an early twilight to the area and Hannibal worked off a hunch and headed straight for the bar instead of up to Face’s room.

 

It was a sound guess. The second he swung the door open, Hannibal knew that most of the army personnel staying in the hotel were assembled in the bar, and from the sounds of it, had been for some time. He located Face in about three short seconds, his gaze zeroing in on his lieutenant with almost supernatural accuracy.

 

Face was seated on a high stool around a circular table with about fourteen others, LT’s and CO’s alike. The table top was almost buried in beer bottles and everyone looked as if their beer count was approaching double figures. Not seeing Dougie anywhere, Hannibal leant against the bar waiting for service and took the opportunity to study Face.

 

He was wearing the same clothes that Hannibal had seen him in this morning as he and Dougie made their way out to the start of the orienteering course: green combats and a black t-shirt tight enough to hug every single hard outline of his torso, but now they all looked a little worse for wear, muddy, torn and his hair was dishevelled, a long scrape down one arm, the hint of a bruise over his temple. Hannibal frowned as his beer arrived before he realised that everyone else looked just as bad, if not worse, than Face. He lifted his beer by the neck and made his way over to Face’s table.

 

“Boss!” Face was on his feet in a second, throwing his arms clumsily around Hannibal’s shoulders and then dragging him back towards the table and shoving another guy off his stool to make room for him to sit down.

 

“Hey, kid,” Hannibal looked into Face’s eyes and realised that his LT was already way past the double figures mark.

 

“Guess what, boss?” Hannibal wondered how long they’d all been in here, “Me and Dougie came third you know, in that thing today, third! You proud of me?”

 

Hannibal laughed, a drunken Face was always pretty entertaining, but all those insecurities came right out into the open. “Third, eh? Thought you’d’ve creamed them all myself.”

 

Face’s expression fell at Hannibal’s teasing, “You are joking, yeah? That course was a bitch!” he jabbed an unsteady finger into Hannibal’s chest, “Why didn’t you tell me there would be fucking big obstacles in it? Didn’t know I’d be hauling myself over ten foot walls all day!” he gestured wildly at the scrape which ran the entire length of his arm from wrist to shoulder. Hannibal grabbed the waving limb to keep it still and inspected the wound carefully, satisfying himself that it was fairly superficial. “It’s a good job I’m pissed,” Face remarked blandly as he watched Hannibal examine him, “’Cause that looks like it would bloody hurt...”

 

Hannibal laughed and tossed his arm away, feeling at a decided disadvantage in the sobriety stakes. “Third...?” he shook his head, “What happened kid? I had high hopes for you...”

 

Face frowned and looked around dramatically for a moment before leaning in to Hannibal, “Dougie happened to me, boss...”

 

A cold vice closed around Hannibal’s stomach, effectively cancelling out the warm fuzziness that the hastily consumed beer had produced, “What the fuck does that mean?” he bit out, harsher than he had intended, thinking even Charlie McArthur wouldn’t stoop so low as to try something on in an exercise for god’s sake...

 

“Well,” Face leaned further in, his forehead bumping against Hannibal’s shoulder, “He’s just not you, you know? We could have won that boss, hands down, but Dougie?” he shook his head in that way that only drunk people can, when their entire neck moves along with their head, “He hasn’t got that will to win, doesn’t see how important it is!”

 

Hannibal let out a wry grin as Face leaned right into his chest, hoping that the kid was right, he could certainly do with Dougie losing the will to win this particular battle. For a minute he wasn’t sure if Face had fallen asleep against him, he was so still, and so he let his hand creep up into the too short hair, feeling the remains of the lump on the back of his head and enjoying the hot gusts of breath against his neck.

 

But then he felt Face laugh and heard something which sounded like it could have been, “Christ, boss, you smell good...” before a too familiar shout of his name set his nerves right back on edge.

 

“You came back!” Dougie slammed another couple of bottles down in front of Face and Hannibal before slapping Face hard on the back and shouting, “Alrighty there kiddo? You holding that beer in okay?” The easy familiarity jarred at Hannibal’s frayed edges.

 

Face hauled himself up from Hannibal’s chest and grinned a decidedly lopsided smile, “Sure thing, partner, just telling Hannibal how we kicked some ass today!”

 

Dougie laughed, “That right? ‘Cause, Jesus Christ, I feel like I’ve had my ass handed to me on a plate, son!”

 

Hannibal looked him over. He’d obviously showered and changed, unlike most of the other guys, but he seemed to have a hundred tiny little scratches on his neck and was definitely favouring his shoulder every time he lifted up his beer bottle.

 

“I’m telling you old friend,” Dougie laid his hand gently on Hannibal’s arm, “You picked a good day to miss. I am definitely too old for the shit they threw at us today! I’m gonna go and get me a desk job any day soon...”

 

The idea was just so preposterous that Hannibal laughed and felt a sliver of that tension drift away from him. Face slid back to the bar and returned with three more beers, even though he seemed to have two on the go as it was, then he muttered, “’Scuse me boss,” and almost staggered over to Gekko’s table as Dougie slipped onto the stool next to Hannibal in his place.

 

Hannibal made sure that Face was not in any imminent danger of collapse before turning back to find Dougie watching him carefully. “He thinks the world of you, you know, John,” he told him, eyes devoid of any sarcasm. Hannibal had to look away.

 

“He’s a good kid...” he responded gruffly.

 

“The best,” Dougie agreed, “I wish I’d had him in my unit.”

 

Hannibal met his eye, “But you don’t.”

 

“No. And the best is what he deserves. There’s no need for us to fight about this anymore.”

 

Hannibal was surprised to find that he’d finished his third beer already and he looked at Dougie steadily, wondering if he was reading this right, if this was Dougie backing off. But then Dougie was on his feet, “I’m gonna go and get us a couple more beers, amigo, and then, let me tell you the news about Chico Davies, remember that guy from Bosnia?” Hannibal nodded, “I swear Hannibal, this story will just crack you up, wait there...”

 

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It was one of those weird, alcohol shrouded evenings where times seemed to be running super fast and mega slow all at the same moment. Hannibal had never laughed as much for years as he did with Dougie sat up at the table. In the end he was literally wrapping an arm around his ribs they ached so much and Dougie had tears of mirth rolling down his cheeks.

 

The crowds were thinning out and Hannibal managed to squint at the clock long enough to work out that it was just after midnight when Dougie excused himself to go to the bathroom. Hannibal glanced over at Face, currently engaged in a game of pool with Gekko and another young guy whose name was Ricardo but for a reason Hannibal hadn’t worked out, everyone called him Tiger Tim. Hannibal idly wondered how three people could play pool all at the same time, but then noticed that no one was actually managing to hit a ball with any of their shots so he supposed it didn’t really matter.

 

The sudden need for a cigar came out of nowhere, and so he stood, swaying just slightly until he managed to find his bar legs, and then made his way out through the sliding doors onto the pool side.

 

__________________________

 

The cigar was almost finished when footsteps in the garden caught his ear and he turned expecting to find a member of staff heading his way, intent on making him walk to the shitty little smoking shelter to finish his smoke. What he saw instead was Dougie. And another figure. Joined together at the mouth and heading, almost staggering, towards one of the poolside tables. For one horrific minute Hannibal caught a glimpse of a black t-shirt and felt the bottom drop out of his stomach, but then he saw the unmistakable curves beneath that t-shirt and the relief was instantaneous.

 

Hannibal had no intention of finishing his smoke within hearing distance of Dougie and his latest shag, but he wasn’t quite quick enough. Almost as one movement, and without breaking contact with his partner’s mouth, Dougie backed the more than willing girl up against the table, slid her ass up on the glass surface, yanked her skirt up and her underwear to one side and slid himself home.

 

Hannibal swallowed at the combined moan that came from both their throats and crept back to the bar as he heard them going for it with real gusto, gasping and grunting, and every thrust making the table creep back an inch over the poolside tiles.

 

Resolutely ignoring the thickening of his cock, Hannibal headed straight back to the bar and ordered himself a double shot of Jack, retiring to the big leather sofas in the corner to drink it in peace.

 

______________________________

 

He was almost at the bottom of his glass before Dougie tracked him down, flopping into the sofa next to him, pressed up tight, hip to knee.

 

“There you are, you old dog, been looking for you!”

 

“Been shagging a waitress more like,” Hannibal replied.

 

Dougie laughed. “What can I say? She’d been giving me the eye all night, was, very, very, keen. Almost had to fight her off!”

 

“So I heard.”

 

Dougie let out a mock gasp, “Hannibal! You been spying on me?”

 

“I was having a smoke out there. You were the one that chose to shag in public.”   

 

Hannibal could feel Dougie’s chuckle right through his ribs, “Wouldn’t be the first time you’ve watched me fuck someone though, eh John?”

 

Oh, fuck...Hannibal could feel the stirring in his underwear yet again. Too much time spent around that damn kid. Not enough time spent having unsatisfactory solo sessions in the shower. Far, far too long since he last got laid...

 

“Do you remember when we used to do that? Take it in turns to bring someone back and screw them, knowing damn well that it was all for show?”

 

Hannibal closed his eyes, trying without much success to fight against the effects of Dougie’s whisper, right in his ear. Of course he remembers that, it hadn’t been his idea, still felt badly about it to this day, but he couldn’t deny if had been fucking hot.

 

“You used to like watching me,” Hannibal could feel his fingers tightening reflexively around his glass, “It made you so hard and so horny, you would barely let me get them out the door before you were on me, fingers up my ass, wanting to feel another man’s come.”

 

Hannibal blushed at the tiny gasp that left his mouth.

 

“And do you remember that woman in Vienna? How we made you watch for all that time, so hard and needy and not allowed to touch?” Hannibal’s throat was dry and he tried to wet his lips, but no moisture was forthcoming. “And then I let you fuck her, and I took you at the same time. Remember how hard you came? Damn nearly passed out.”

 

Something, somewhere in the back of Hannibal’s mind was telling him that this was dangerous. That Dougie was dangerous, that he really should just collect up the boy and take them both up to bed. Separate beds.

 

But Dougie’s voice was so familiar, and the memories he was evoking were so clear, it was hard to get any of his muscles to react.

 

Suddenly he felt fingers on his thigh, red hot and insistent and trailing a slow, slow path to his groin. “Are you hard now, John?” Jesus, that voice... “I can see you are. I can see how hard you are through your pants. All for me, huh? All this time and I can still make you want me?” The fingers finally arrived at the bulge in Hannibal’s trousers and firmly rubbed a line up his length.

 

“Yes...” Hannibal hissed, bucking up into that touch, not sure if his involuntary response was an answer to the question or a reaction to the feel of someone else’s hand on him after so damn long.

 

Dougie chuckled again, “Oh, I’ve missed the feel of this, John,” he was stroking harder now, getting into a rhythm and Hannibal could feel the growing damp patch in the front of his trousers. “No one is built like you; I want to feel it again.”

 

Again that involuntary twitch.

 

“What do you think? There’s no one here, they’re all over the other side of the bar, do you want me to get your cock out here John? Feel my hand on your skin? My mouth?”

 

No! shouted the voice in Hannibal’s head, but from somewhere completely different came another voice, a deep, needy growl, “Fuck, yes...!”

 

And Dougie’s fingers went straight to the button on his fly.

 

“Fuck, boss, I’m knackered!”

 

The voice came from nowhere, as did the solid shape thumping down on Hannibal’s other side, all long limbs and tousled hair, drunken smile and familiar smell and Hannibal nearly shot out of the sofa in his attempt to hide his straining erection, shoving Dougie’s hands away at the same time and looking around wildly in a panic.

 

Face incredibly, was oblivious. He was laid back in the sofa, his eyes were closed and Hannibal just knew he was drunker than he had been in a long while, but even before he had had the chance to realise that his indiscretion had gone unnoticed, there was a hand on his stubborn erection again, this time not as gentle, this time just on the edge of pain and his eyes shot round to Dougie, still sitting flush up against him.

 

“He deserves the best, eh, Johnnie? And that’s you is it?” all of Dougie’s warmth had disappeared, “You  are so fucking sanctimonious, thinking you would be better for him than me, but I can still have you moaning and begging like a whore without even laying a finger on your cock!” Hannibal shoved him away, eyes flicking to Face who mercifully appeared to be asleep but Dougie leaned straight back in again. “Some fucking saint you are, just as easily corrupted as the rest of us!”

 

Hannibal stood up, pulling his t-shirt out of his trousers to hide his still substantial erection, and yanking an almost comatose Face to his feet next to him.

 

Dougie grabbed his arm and Hannibal glared at him, “It’s game on Johnnie. And I intend to win,” his smile was slow and predatory and ice cold. His hand went to Face’s cheek where he stroked through the day’s stubble gently, “And I’m gonna have such fun with him when I get him...”

 

Hannibal shoved him away so hard that he took a step back and tripped over a stray stool, landing on his back with a heavy thump. He grabbed Face’s arm and slung it around his neck, making sure his LT actually stayed on his feet as he steered him towards the elevators, “Just you try it you little fucker,” Hannibal snarled as he stepped over him, “and I will break every bone in your neck!”

 

And Dougie laughed, he actually laughed, as Hannibal half dragged, half carried Face out of the bar.     

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