indigo_angels

In ten minutes he was showered and shaved and had cleaned his teeth about four times and was standing on the narrow landing, torn between going into the room he had shared almost every single night in this house with Hannibal, or slipping into the small box room he kept up both for the sake of appearance as well as to give him somewhere to dump all his mess without annoying the boss. After hesitating for several long minutes, he turned with a sigh and finally slipped into Hannibal’s room.

Standing in the doorway, he could hear the steady, soft breathing that told him Hannibal was sleeping and he almost turned and walked away. The need within him for comfort, for something familiar, for the chance to slip into an old routine was just too powerful though, and slipping the damp towel from around his waist he silently padded across the carpet and slid under the duvet, pushing himself across the smooth sheet until he was pressed right up against Hannibal’s back and that solid, reassuring warmth.

For a moment, he just lay there, soaking up all that warmth and comfort, until Hannibal shifted, a long breath out announcing that he was surfacing from his slumber and Face tensed, wondering how this was going to play out.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Hannibal’s voice was thick with sleep, “Why didn’t you say you were home tonight? I’d have waited up for you.”

Face couldn’t answer, didn’t really have an answer he was comfortable with for himself, never mind for the boss, but he was saved from that problem by Hannibal turning around to lie on his side, long body crushed right up against Face’s in the cosy nest of the bed, searching out his mouth in the darkness. Letting himself be found, Face let go, just for a moment, allowing himself to float off into the peaceful oblivion of the boss’ kiss, before he pulled back, dropping his mouth to Hannibal’s collar bone to disguise the movement, fingers already reaching down between them. “I need you, boss,” was all he said, finding Hannibal already hard against his leg and stroking, squeezing, tempting his love to take him.

Hannibal moaned and lay on his back, trying to pull Face on top of him, but the lieutenant had other ideas, keeping back out of the way, reaching under the pillow for the lube that was always kept there and warming it in his hands.

Suddenly, the light flicked on and Face froze in the act of squeezing the thick clear liquid into his palm to find Hannibal’s intense and suddenly wide awake eyes right in his face.

“What’s going on, Face?” he asked, the tone of voice that one that Face always found so hard to bullshit.

“Nothing!” he tried anyway, “I just got back, had a shit awful journey, haven’t been with you in weeks... Is it wrong that I want you? I thought you might want me back...” he added, throwing a little pout into the mix for good measure.

He tried to pull back but Hannibal’s fingers were on his chin holding him still, holding his eyes up so that the boss could study them carefully, “You know I always want you,” Hannibal soothed him, “But don’t try to scam me, Templeton, I know you, and I know when there is something wrong.” Face forced himself to relax, wiped his features blank and held Hannibal’s stare. “Everything go okay with the kids?” he asked and Face just nodded, unsure how much he could get away with saying at the moment. Hannibal watched him a while longer before pitching into his softest, most beguiling voice. “So, what is it, Face? Come on kid, I know when you aren’t happy, tell me what’s bothering you, you know we can fix it together.”

Face jerked his head away and carefully rubbed the lube round and round in this palm, warming it thoroughly as he thought. It was true, ever since he’d met Hannibal, every problem he’d had, and there had been plenty, the boss had helped him to fix. They’d been a team, worked together, and Hannibal had been proud of him and all that he’d achieved. But this, no, this was different. How could they work together when the problem this time was him? The choices he’d made? The person he had become?

He reached out with his warm slick hands and stroked Hannibal’s length with both palms, listening to Hannibal’s hiss of surprise. “Not now, boss,” he’d whispered, praying, just for once that the stubborn old git would let it go, “I need this. I need you. Please John. Just, please please, let me have this moment...”

The use of Hannibal’s name was a low blow, he knew that, but then, that’s the type of depths he stooped to all the time these days, and it certainly had the desired effect. Hannibal lay back in his pillows, his eyes hooded as Face stroked him, one hand rolling his sac, knowing from years and years of experience exactly what was guaranteed to get the boss going. Face leaned over, dropping kisses across Hannibal’s chest and reached out to flick the lamp off again, moving his kisses to the boss’ mouth as he anticipated the question that action would provoke.

Face was starting to get impatient now, and turned everything he had up to full volume, desperate to get this going and over with as soon as possible. Within minutes the combined ministrations of his tongue, lips, teeth and fingers had Hannibal covered in a light sheen of sweat and reaching for Face, trying to manoeuvre him into position, trying to get him flat on his back underneath him. Face, however, was having none of it. He willingly slid under the boss, but turned onto his front, pulling his knees up underneath him, tipping his head into the pillows and he closed his eyes in disappointment as he felt Hannibal stop.

“Face...?”

Face knew what was coming. Knew that Hannibal was going to ask him, why?

It wasn’t like they never did it this way because they did, but it was always fast and dirty and hard and desperate and never in the bedroom and never when they needed to reconnect. Whenever that reconnection was needed they did it face to face, didn’t matter who was on top, as long as they could look at each other the whole time and kiss and touch and whisper. That’s what times like this needed, but what Face and the person he had become deserved well that was another matter entirely.

“Please...” Face begged, pushing himself back into Hannibal, “just do it, boss. I need this, I need to feel you like this. Please. Please.”

Hannibal felt his heart pounding in his throat as he tried to mull this chain of events over in his mind. Why did Face want this, it wasn’t like him, he was usually the one who craved the emotional intensity of loving face-to-face. Why did he want Hannibal to take him from behind? The uncomfortable memory of Face finding him in that attic room back in Russia, chained up and sitting in his own filth reared its ugly head once more and Hannibal’s cheeks flushed at the humiliation he still felt. Was this Face’s problem? Had seeing his CO in that sorry state changed his perception of Hannibal, had it ruined everything they had?

He sighed and Face felt his huge hands slide onto his hips, “Face...” there was pain in that voice, and Face cringed to know that he’d put it there, but there was no other way, “we need to talk.”

“Later,” Face whispered, trying without success to impale himself on the boss’ cock, “not now. Now I need you!”

All the time he was rotating his hips, Hannibal’s cock wedged in the curve of his ass, knowing damn well he was driving the boss crazy and with a defeated groan, Hannibal eventually pulled back and lined himself up, finding the tight ring of muscle and pushing straight through.

Face moaned as he felt that hot, familiar burn, and buried himself into the pillows beneath. It had been a long time since he’d been opened up like this, too many days, and Hannibal hadn’t prepared him at all, so it hurt, but that was just what he wanted. Hannibal was pulling out now, slowly, slowly and it wasn’t enough and too much for Face all in one go. With a deep grunt he shoved backwards, ramming Hannibal back inside him, all the way up to the root and biting back his yell of pain as he did so.

“Face!”

Hannibal wasn’t comfortable with this, Face knew. It wasn’t the time for fast and hard and desperate, but dear god, it was what Face needed so he kept up the back and forth movements of his hips, fucking himself hard if Hannibal wasn’t going to do it for him. But in that one word he had heard all he needed, heard how close Hannibal was to losing himself and so Face persevered, backwards and forwards, squeezing his muscles tight around that hot shaft within him, and with a long moan, Hannibal’s resolve slipped.

Those hands on his hips suddenly tightened convulsively and Hannibal surged forward, shoving himself in as deep and hard as he could, dragging a little cry of pain, silenced by the pillows, from Face’s lips, and Face went still and let himself be taken.

“Harder...” he muttered, turning his head so that the pillow no longer swallowed his words, “Harder, take me harder!” And Hannibal did. The sounds of flesh slapping together and the various grunts and moans were obscene in the quiet of the night, but Face didn’t care. He let Hannibal pound him into the bed, feeling his knees scraping on the sheets, his head banging into the headboard, the bruises starting up on his hips. And then Hannibal’s hand was on his cock, pulling out a frantic rhythm and Face closed his eyes letting it come, letting it wash over him, hoping against all hope that when it came it would wash him clean, would take all the dirt and poison away and he could go back to being as he was.

But after they’d both finished, Hannibal’s shout of his name still ringing in his ears, the healing bullet wound on his stomach pressed into the cooling pool of his own come, he realised with crushing disappointment, that he just felt exactly the same.

_______________________________

It was still dark when Hannibal woke up, but he knew instantly that the other side of the bed was empty. He wondered for just a moment if Face’s return hadn’t just been a figment of his over active imagination, but no, he quickly discounted that, not even he had sunk to depths that low, no matter how alone he’d felt. He wondered if the kid had just got up to go to the bathroom or something, but as he spread his hand out over the bed next to him, he found only cold, empty sheets, no sign of a warm body next to him for a while.

Without further thought, he kicked off the duvet and padded out onto the landing. The bathroom was empty and in darkness, door standing open, but the lingering fragrance of Face’s shower gel confirmed that Hannibal wasn’t losing his marbles just yet. He stood at the top of the stairs listening intently, knowing that sometimes when Face couldn’t sleep he would put the Xbox on, or watch a DVD or MTV or something, but downstairs seemed to be as quiet and dark as upstairs. That just left... Hannibal’s eyes landed on the tightly closed door of Face’s box room, the room he only ever slept in if they had had an argument.

With a heavy heart he walked over and quietly opened the door, his heart clenching as he took in Face’s figure, wrapped up in the duvet and jammed against the wall on the narrow single mattress, his still-packed bags piled at the end of the bed. He never even considered waking the kid up, he must be shattered after everything that had happened these last few weeks, but whatever was going on with Face, and it was something that Hannibal didn’t like the feel of at all, first thing in the morning, he intended sorting it all out.

The blinking numerals on his watch told him that it was 0440 and knew that further sleep would be an impossibility from this point onwards. He leant against the door frame for a moment, just watching Face sleep, loving the way his eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks, itching to stroke through his newly washed hair, thinking back to the way that the kid had wanted, no begged, Hannibal to take him back in the bedroom... He shook his head and slipped out, heading for the stairs. Yeah... something was very wrong...

Creeping down the stairs, Hannibal glanced briefly at the tightly closed door of the spare room and almost tripped over Face’s kit bag, still leaning up against the door where he had dumped it when he came in and he suddenly froze. His mind went back to the bedroom and the bags stacked at the end of Face’s bed and he grabbed hold of the banister as he felt the world start to tip.

Again the memory of that dank, smelly attic room came back to haunt him. Those bags weren’t the ones that Face had brought back from Russia, no, not at all, those bags were freshly packed. Face was leaving him. Leaving him because he couldn’t stand seeing him humbled like that, laid bare, stripped naked... Hannibal hung his head in utter devastation and humiliation. Oh god, Face was leaving him... His stomach churned in nausea.

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