Motivation - H/F - Part 6

There was no slow start to this one, Face and Tosh exchanged a terse handshake, with Tosh’s comment of, “You’re going down, Peck,” clearly audible to Hannibal, and the second they were given the okay, Tosh was on Face like a dervish. 

 

Hannibal could hardly breathe as he watched the dizzying speed with which Tosh attacked. Face blocked just as quickly using his forearms, hands, legs and feet to intercept shots aimed at his head and body, his eyes steady and focussed, his balance perfect. Not many of Tosh’s shots were getting through, but that didn’t seem to faze him, he simply stepped back, regrouped physically, and then launched forward again, trying a slightly different angle or speed or combination.

 

Face blocked again, a particularly vicious looking uppercut that could have taken his head clean off his shoulders and Hannibal felt a presence next to his arm and he glanced down, Dougie, of course. Hannibal tried to shift away slightly, but it was too crowded, it seemed as if all the military personnel from the entire hotel were crammed around the four ordinary looking crash mats and so he couldn’t avoid Dougie’s fingers grazing across his back in the crowd or the whispered comment of, “Beautiful aren’t they?” that brushed against his ear.

 

Again Tosh pulled back, and circled around the edge of the mats keeping Face in his sights the whole time. Face kept his distance, circling at the opposite side, his bare feet light on the mats. “What’s up, Face?” Tosh taunted, “Scared of me?”

 

He was an imposing sight, bare-chested, his white marble skin in direct contrast to the jet black of his hair, the loose black martial arts pants, but Face just laughed, “You’d like me to be wouldn’t you?” The two men were a study in opposites, Face’s expression was open, easy going, while with his blond hair, blue eyes, sun kissed skin and shorts he would have been at home on any Californian beach, “But unfortunately Tosh, I’m not six, so no, I’m not scared of you. Just messing with you my friend, stringing you along for the benefit of my adoring fans...” the flippant comment brought a chorus of cheers and boos, whistles and cat calls just as Face had hoped it would, and Tosh’s expression darkened.

 

“He’s a clever boy,” Dougie was far too close to Hannibal for comfort now, and that voice in his ear sent uncomfortable goose bumps up and down his neck, “He’s trying to make Tosh angry, lose control, no doubt learnt that from you, John. But it won’t work, Tosh doesn’t let his emotions rule his head, learnt that from me.”

 

Hannibal couldn’t miss the subtle emphasis to that statement and looked around, trying to read the subtext in Dougie’s face and it was obvious; the power, the ownership, the complete control and for the first time all week, Hannibal felt a sliver of pity for the other lieutenant.

 

A heavy thump on the mats drew his attention back to the fight and somehow both Face and Tosh were on the floor, grappling and wrestling, each getting the upper hand only to be flipped off by the other and the whole thing would start again. Tosh was longer than Face, heavier, arguably stronger. But what Face lacked in size, he more than made up for in speed, core body strength and suppleness; repeatedly Tosh manhandled Face down onto the mats below him, only for Face to flip out from underneath him in a move that seemed to defy all logic.

 

Dougie’s throaty laugh gave Hannibal the creeps, as did the fingers, stealing either side of his waist, encroaching where they were most certainly not welcome, “Oh, look at them John, are you telling me you wouldn’t want that in your bed, for you? Your own personal show?”

 

Hannibal narrowed his eyes and tried to lean away in the crush of bodies, “I’ve told you, he’s straight,” realising too late how his failure to deny became an admission of guilt.

 

Of course Dougie noticed as well, and one of his creeping hands skimmed the material of Hannibal’s joggers, straying a little too close to his ass for comfort, “But that wouldn’t matter to you and I, John, we could show, him, convince him of his mistake, it’s a method with proven success. They might not think they want to take some cock to begin with, but once I’m finished with them, they stop saying no.”

 

Hannibal froze, his heart pounding hard against his ribs, thinking back to the persuasion that Dougie had used on him all of those years ago... But that had been different; Hannibal had never said ‘no’, he’d only said, ‘not yet’. Of course Dougie hadn’t listened to him anyway, but this? This sounded like more than ignoring someone’s preferences, this sounded much more like damn force.

 

He glanced back at his old friend, wondering just how far down that road he had travelled since they had last shared a bed, but Dougie was ignoring him, his eyes on Face and Tosh who were still wrestling on the mats, his eyes shining, lips moist and slightly parted, two spots of high colour on his cheeks. Hannibal swallowed down his apprehension as the crowd yelled out as one and turned back to the match to see what was happening.

 

Both Tosh and Face were bathed in sweat, their bodies a patch work of red marks, sharp, bluing impact points, scrapes and scratches. Both were breathing hard and starting to show the effects of the fight, but neither had ever looked so focussed and intense. The crowd’s reaction had come from a blow that Tosh had aimed at Face’s head, but which had struck across the front of his neck instead, sending him thudding back into the mat, temporarily stunned. Tosh had seen an opening and scrambled up onto his knees, throwing himself down as hard as he could over Face’s midriff, intent on winding him and hopefully pinning him for the whole of the count. Face however had worked out what was happening in the nick of time, and at the last minute had drawn his knee up over his chest, protecting himself and doubling Tosh up in agony at the same time.

 

In the aftermath of that move, both Face and Tosh lay on the mats struggling with their breathing and taking the chance of just a minute’s respite. Hannibal glanced at the organisers who were starting to look a little concerned, huddling together and whispering in hushed voices; this had never intended to turn into anything this serious, no one was supposed to get hurt. He could see that they were getting cold feet.

 

Face managed to pull himself into a sitting position, still massaging his neck, his chest heaving for air, and Hannibal started for him, but Dougie’s firm hand held him back, “Leave him,” Dougie whispered, “Let them work this out themselves.”

 

“This is not a playground scrap!” Hannibal hissed, concern flowing through him as he watched Face shakily climb to his feet.

 

“I know,” Dougie still had that unsettling husky edge to his voice and he leaned even further into Hannibal, hands firmly gripping his hips, chin on his shoulder, mouth at his ear, “It’s a dress rehearsal,” he whispered, “and I want you as part of the real thing, John. Imagine it; imagine the three of us taking him through it, imagine how grateful he will be once he realises how wrong he’s been...” And just as Hannibal thought he couldn’t possibly be more sickened by the plans in Dougie’s head, his old friend pushed up against him, and Hannibal could feel the thick, hard erection pressing into the cleft of his ass. “Imagine how it will feel for you, holding him down while I take him apart for the very first time...”

 

Hannibal shoved him away, forcing him to stagger back into the crowd and would have turned to follow through with his fist, but for the drama on the mats suddenly stepping up a gear as well. Face had hauled himself to his feet, just as Tosh had managed to get to his knees, one arm still wrapped across his stomach, and, taking a step towards him, Face had offered a hand to help him up.

 

Tosh had looked up, his eyes narrowing in contempt at Face’s gesture, and knocked the kid’s hand away with obvious scorn. For the briefest of seconds Face had looked, almost pityingly at him, but then had half shrugged and turned away, crucially, stupidly, turning his back on his fallen opponent.

 

Hannibal shouted a warning, his voice lost in the warnings and encouragement that came from both sides of the crowd and before Face had chance to work out what was going on he was on his back again, stars in his eyes and Tosh’s heavy frame across his shoulders. Hannibal roared his disapproval but Face wasn’t beaten yet, even as the count came down, he tucked his feet flat on the floor, well under his own backside and pushed down, hard. Hannibal could see the muscles in his thighs bunched tightly together, the tendons around his knees standing out with the strain and Face’s hips flipped up, his hands scrabbling for purchase as they helped out and, much to his frustration, Tosh was rolled off his victory at the last possible second.

 

The crowd went crazy and Face leapt to his feet, his eyes cold blue slits as he glared at Tosh across the mats. This bout had never been particularly amicable, but from the looks on the faces of the two protagonists, things had just taken a decidedly unfriendly turn. Hannibal turned to Dougie, “This has gone far enough,” he hissed, and in all seriousness, he meant the whole week, not just the fight, “It needs to stop, come with me...” he went to grab Dougie’s arm, but Dougie shook him off.

 

“Are you crazy?” he hissed back and his eyes were back on the action and the crowd were howling for blood once more and Hannibal spun back on his heel to see what he had missed.

 

Tosh had kicked out, high, catching Face in the side of the head and Hannibal winced, glad of the head protection both fighters had to wear but deciding that was the last straw - it was time for this whole thing to stop. Before he got chance to move, however, there was another kick, in exactly the same place and Face must have been stunned as he only managed to lean back,  clumsily trying to get out of the way and Tosh’s foot skimmed the padded protector, yanking it off and spinning it into the crowd. Without pause he was back up again, another kick, this time to bare head and Face staggered, trying desperately to keep his feet, then another kick, same place, and almost in slow motion Face started to go down as whistles started sounding and the shouting of the officials became more panicked.

 

“Jesus Christ!” Hannibal started forward as Tosh kicked out again, this time catching Face right across his cheek and Hannibal was drawn up short by Dougie’s hand tight around his arm, “Let go!” he turned and hissed, as Tosh delivered the killer blow, back to the side of the head, sending Face sprawling across the mats.

 

Dougie saw the look on Hannibal’s face and let go at once, holding both hands up in a gesture of peace and Hannibal whirled away, far too preoccupied to deal with him for the present. He spun around, back to the mats which were now swarming with men in uniform, some gathered round Tosh, others kneeling on the floor next to Face.  Hannibal rushed in, sweeping people aside and dropping to his knees on the mat, shoving bodies out of his way until he was leaning right over his lieutenant’s head. “Face!” he shouted, one hand reaching out and cupping a stubbled cheek, “Open your eyes! Right fucking now! And that’s an order!” he realised he was shaking and that he had rumpled more than a few egos pushing people out of his way, but right now he was finding hard to give a flying fuck. “An order!” he repeated, “You got that lieutenant?”

 

Face’s eyes flickered and then opened, squinting against the lights in the ceiling, “Oh, shit boss,” he mumbled, “he didn’t fucking beat me did he?”

 

Hannibal couldn’t answer, was too busy taking a deep breath and trying to find the patience to answer a question like that, so one of the assisting sergeants spoke up instead, “I don't think so LT, was hardly legal, continuing to fight when you were compromised like that, the way I see it, he’ll be DQ’d and you’ll be the winner!”

 

If Sergeant Johnson had been expecting Face to be pleased with that news, he was disappointed. Face’s expression fell and he reached forward with one hand, grabbing Hannibal’s t-shirt and pulling himself up as he pushed at the mats with the other hand, “No, no, no...” he breathed, his eyes imploring, “I’m not winning on a technicality, boss! Tell them! If I’m winning this, I’m winning it properly!”

 

Hannibal looked at him, the blood running from his nose, his mouth, the split across his cheek bone, the swelling under one eye, the blood trickling from his ear for god’s sake and shook his head, “Face,” he was struggling to hold onto his temper, “This. Stops. Now. I don't give a shit who won and how, it stops and you leave.”

 

Face was appalled, “No!” his eyes were wide and switched to the sergeant who was beginning to look very uncomfortable, “Go and tell them I want to continue, Tosh didn’t mean it, it was an accident, tell them!” Sgt. Johnson looked at Face, then up at Hannibal, then down at Face once more, “Tell them!” he yelled and Johnson jumped like he’d been slapped.

 

“Yes, sir!” he responded and scurried away to join the frenzied conference taking place around the judges table.

 

Sitting himself up more securely, Face turned his challenging stare to Hannibal who just shook his head, “No,” Hannibal’s voice was low and deadly and not one to be argued with, “This is over.”

 

Face narrowed his eyes, “Why?”

 

Hannibal just looked at him, “Why the hell do you think?”

 

Gesturing at the blood leaking from more places than he could accurately indentify, Face queried, “Because of this?”

 

Hannibal’s expression said it all.

 

“Bullshit,” Face replied, staring his CO in the eyes, “You want me to drop out of this fight, you tell me the real reason.”

 

Narrowing his eyes, Hannibal replied in a growl, “I don't need to do anything other than give you a direct order, lieutenant!”

 

Face set his expression to match, “You’re right. Order me and I’ll have no choice. But I’ll never forgive you.”

 

Hannibal’s eyes widened incredulously, “What?!”

 

Wiping the trail of blood from his mouth, Face gazed back impassively, “Tell me the truth and I will get up and walk right out of here.”

 

“What truth?!”

 

Face held his eyes, “The truth about why you have been so damn weird this week, boss, and why you want me to drop this fight.”

 

Hannibal’s eyes were flashing dangerously as he leant in, “The truth is that I am fed up of this stupid, barbaric violence, and it’s about time you all grew up a bit.”

 

“No. The real truth.”

 

Hannibal was cornered, his heart was pounding and his hands shaking and he could feel the cold sweat standing on his back. He couldn’t read anything in Face’s impassive features, damn, the kid was good at that when he wanted to be, and he had no idea where this was headed. Did Face suspect him here? And if he did, he didn’t look exactly pleased about it, so what the fuck did that mean?

 

“I’ve told you...” he ground out and went to stand up.

 

Face’s hand shot out and grabbed Hannibal’s wrist but this time his eyes were imploring, desperate even, and the pressure from his fingers was painful, “Hannibal,” his voice, low and urgent, struck right in Hannibal’s chest, “Please... please boss, tell me the truth, please just say it. I’m begging you...”

 

Time stuttered for one long moment before Hannibal spoke, “What do you want me to say, kid? That I want you to stop before Tosh puts you in the hospital? That you’ve already lost this, that you should know when to quit?”

 

Hurt clouded Face’s eyes, “That’s what you think? You think I can’t win this?”

 

Hannibal looked at him, “Kid, Tosh isn’t the one dumped on his ass on the mats and dripping blood from twenty different places...”

 

In three seconds Face was on his feet, wiping the blood from his face onto the back of his arm and glaring at Hannibal. “I can fucking do this!”

 

“Not if I give you an order.”

 

Face pulled himself up to his full height, still a few inches short of Hannibal’s but stared at his boss right in the eye, “I swear, you make me throw this, and it will never be forgotten between us. You brought me here to get noticed and here I am, getting fucking noticed! Don't pull this on me, boss. Just don't.”

 

Silence fell as each man stared the other down.

 

“Col. Smith?” Two sets of blue eyes swivelled to look at General Crowther who stood frowning at them, “We were all set to award the win to Lt. Peck here, based on Lt. McIntosh’s blatant disregard of the rules, but Sgt. Johnson seems to think that you might have a problem with that?”

 

“I have a problem with that!” Face interjected before Hannibal could speak, hastily sticking a, “Sir,” on the end as Gen. Crowther raised an eyebrow at him.

 

“Yes, Lt.?”

 

Face threw a quick glance at Hannibal before looking back at Crowther and taking a deep breath, “I want this to be finished properly, sir,” he was making an effort to keep his voice steady, “This whole night has been really tense and I’m sure Lt. McIntosh didn’t realise that my head guard had come off, he was just caught up in the moment and everything,” Face shrugged, “I would rather just carry on...”

 

Gen. Crowther frowned and looked over at Hannibal, “Well, that’s certainly what Col. McArthur is telling me, Hannibal. So what are your thoughts, how do you see this being resolved?”

 

 

There was almost a whole minute’s silence as Hannibal looked first at Gen. Crowther, then Face, then back to Crowther, “Whatever the LT says, General,” his voice was tired and he sounded like he’d just had enough of the whole night. He turned back to Face once more, “You want Tosh to kick seven shades of shit out of you, Face? Be my fucking guest, but don't expect me to stand around and watch!” and with that he whirled on his heel and left as Face’s hand snatched out at thin air just behind him. 

Next