Six Times Face Cried - Time Six
Sep. 17th, 2011 07:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
indigo_angels0800 was a long time coming. Especially when I was determined to hide out in my room all the time, wanting to keep well out of the way of the others. The team, however, had other plans. I heard them arriving back just after Hannibal had left and by 1430 they had dragged me from my room under the guise of my presence being desperately required to even out the numbers in the Mortal Kombat tournament they had set up for the afternoon on the XBox. I let them bully me into joining in and eating pizza along with them and even sharing a few beers before bed, but I could see them all looking at me sideways all the time and I knew I was still a hot topic of conversation whenever my back was turned.
Eventually I turned in, and despite having a night full of crazy dreams in which gentle but strong fingers ran all over my stick man’s body, I didn't wake until my alarm went off at 0700. It was only as I dragged my weary legs out of bed and prepared to hit the showers that I even noticed the dried sticky mess on the inside of my shorts and flushed as I realised I knew who those fingers had belonged to.
I was outside the briefing room at 0755, nervously kicking at the wall as I waited for the others to arrive. At 0800 on the dot, I saw Hannibal come striding across towards me and I suddenly realised that this briefing might be a little more private than yesterday’s.
“Alright, kid?” he asked as he brushed past me and went into the briefing room first. “You sleep okay?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered following him in, feeling the flush on my cheeks as I remembered my dream.
He put his hand on the light switch and then stopped dead, leaving us in the dark and making it so it was impossible for me not to walk straight into him. I felt my chest connect smartly with his, and found myself standing under the curve of his arm, still stretched up to reach the light switch; it was disconcerting how comfortable that position was and I hated myself for the fact that I didn't rush away from him. Having said that mind you, he wasn’t pushing me away or distancing himself either.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, low and deep and resounding right through my chest.
“W-what?” I stammered, hopelessly inarticulate so close to his body, memories of my dream rearing up inside me.
“About your difficulties. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was stupid,” I muttered quickly, the truth spilling out all by itself.
“Are you?” Hannibal shot back, quick as a flash.
“No!” I knew the indignation was there and hoped he didn’t hate me for it.
“So, why would I think you were?” he seemed genuinely confused.
“Most people do,” I replied, hating the truth of my words.
Hannibal laughed quietly, “And am I most people?”
I shook my head, incapable of further speech; no he was most certainly not most people.
Suddenly he leaned in and I could feel the heat coming from his body, feel my own body responding, “So,” he whispered, right into my ear, “you got any other secrets you need to share with me? Anything else I need to know about you?”
I was insanely glad that I’d worn a pair of baggy combat shorts, knowing that the totally inappropriate erection that was currently raging in my underwear could stay hidden even as I tried to step away, to put a little space in between me and my CO before I did or said something entirely inappropriate. Hannibal looked at me sideways as I tried to back away from him a little, and his eyes were shrewd and assessing. I wondered if he was laughing at me and felt my hackles rise a little but he seemed to be genuinely studying my reaction to him.
Just as the confusion was starting to really get to me, he flicked the light switch and moved to the other side of the room. “Come here, kid,” he instructed as he walked to the table at the far side of the room, “I’ve got something to show you.”
Slipping my hands into my pockets, hoping it would help hide my stubborn hard-on, I followed him and stopped dead once again as soon as I laid eyes on the table.
A huge satellite image, almost the size of the entire table top, dominated my vision. It was obviously the camp we were due to attack next week and the image had been printed out and blown up in size so that every single point on the camp could be seen. The image was covered in a sheet of clear acetate, over written in notes and timings made in blue, red and green pen. And then, sitting on top of the image were little plastic soldiers, all different designs some with rocket launchers, some with machine guns, one throwing a hand grenade, one running and beckoning others to follow. Each of the little plastic men had a sticker on their backs with a single letter printed clearly on it. Hannibal stood in silence watching me as I wandered over to the table and stared in awe. It was the boss’ plan and my interpretation of it melded together in 3D, I was speechless.
My eyes fell on the soldier holding a rifle up on his shoulder, starring out through the scope at his mark and before I realised, my shaking hand had picked it up, turning around and looking at the bold ‘F’ on his back.
“I’ve seen you shoot,” Hannibal’s voice was quiet, coming from behind me, “and you’re a hell of a marksman, kid.”
I felt my throat tighten, I knew I was, I could hit any target I wanted over any range, but no one had ever complimented me before. My stance was wrong apparently, I was messy, I gripped the gun too tight... any one of a number of problems and the result, the cardboard man with the bullet hole between his eyes, had never mattered to those in charge. Maybe Hannibal Smith was different...
I replaced my figure on the board and just stared, my throat to too tight to speak, my pulse thumping too hard in my head to think. I felt Hannibal take a step closer to me, could feel his presence at my elbow. “So,” his voice was low and made my persistent erection twitch, “what do you think? Does this make it easier for you?”
And that was the end of me. I closed my eyes as tight as I could, hands clenching into fists but still could not suppress the sob that shook my entire frame or the damn tears that leaked through my lids and dripped onto the acetate sheet. He’d done this for me. For me. Hannibal Smith, one of the most legendary kick-ass commanders in the US army had spent god only knows how long transferring his plan into this 3D model just so that his twisted, fucked up, defective baby ranger would know what the hell to do when he went out on his first job next week. I couldn’t believe it.
“Face?” His voice was at my ear now and I hung my head, mortified that he would see me like this, acting so weak, so emotional. “What’s up kid? This no better?” And he sounded genuinely disappointed in that possibility.
I shook my head, desperate to contradict his disillusionment. “No,” I whispered, the words coming out thick and choked through my tears, “it’s perfect...”
Then he laughed and I felt a big hand on my shoulder turning me into him, another on the back of my neck, just like that day in the kitchen. “Come here,” he whispered and I just about fell onto him, so desperate for his touch, “and stop thinking that you’re not worth it,” his view into my mind was terrifyingly accurate.
How long we stood there for I have no idea, but the feel of his hand on the back of my neck, holding me tightly against his shoulder and the smooth pressure of his big palm rubbing up and down over my tense back muscles was like nothing I had ever felt before. I felt safe and valued and wanted all at the same time and if that wasn’t enough to keep the tears flowing into his t-shirt then I didn’t know what was.
Eventually, though, even my tear reservoir has to dry up and I was left feeling humiliated and disgraced by my emotional outburst. I pulled away and used my sweatshirt sleeve to scrub at my eyes, trying to turn away from the boss, trying to move back and put some space in-between us, but to my shock, he was having none of it. “Stop,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding. He reached out and took hold of my chin, turning my face up to look at him, forcing my bloodshot and puffy eyes up to his. “Don’t,” he whispered intensely and shook his head. “Don’t ever be ashamed of who you are, kid.”
I tried to turn away. I mean that’s all well and good when you are Hannibal Smith, but when you are just me, well that’s another thing altogether. He squeezed my chin in a firmer grip though and made me stay with him, his blue eyes blazing into mine. “I know what you are thinking,” he told me, and I shuddered as I felt that he actually did, “and I’m going to change your mind. I’m going to make you see yourself as I see you. Make you see the truth.” I just stared at him, it was like he actually believed that I was worth something and the thought warmed my lonely heart.
He smiled at me and ruffled my hair, glancing at his watch and moving to stand next to me, looking down at the plan. “Well, kid,” he said, pulling a cigar out from his pocket, “we’ve got about an hour and a half before the others get here for the second briefing, and I noticed you’d made a couple of changes to the plan on the copy up in your room yesterday. So... care to run me through them? Show me where I went wrong?”
I turned and stared at him in horror, expecting to see the furrowed brow of a CO not appreciating a sub pointing anything like that out to him, but all I saw was open expectation. He even smiled at me around his cigar. “I’m not infallible you know,” he told me, “and a good CO knows when to listen to his men. So that’s why I’m asking, kid, come on, show me where I went wrong.”
I tore my eyes away from him and back to the plan, the warmth in my heart spreading with every second. “Well,” I replied, my voice rough from the tears, “it’s not where you went wrong boss, it’s just where you could shave a bit of time off.”
“Show me.”
“Well,” I reached out for Spike’s figure, “if Spikey starts here and waits until you and Mario do your thing then...”
And that morning was the first time that I realised that I had, unequivocally and for all time, fallen head over heels in love with Hannibal Smith.
__________________________
End! But, wait... No hot sex for Face? After all he's gone through??? Can't have that now can we? Stay tuned for the steamy epilogue....!
Epilogue
Eventually I turned in, and despite having a night full of crazy dreams in which gentle but strong fingers ran all over my stick man’s body, I didn't wake until my alarm went off at 0700. It was only as I dragged my weary legs out of bed and prepared to hit the showers that I even noticed the dried sticky mess on the inside of my shorts and flushed as I realised I knew who those fingers had belonged to.
I was outside the briefing room at 0755, nervously kicking at the wall as I waited for the others to arrive. At 0800 on the dot, I saw Hannibal come striding across towards me and I suddenly realised that this briefing might be a little more private than yesterday’s.
“Alright, kid?” he asked as he brushed past me and went into the briefing room first. “You sleep okay?”
“Yes, sir,” I answered following him in, feeling the flush on my cheeks as I remembered my dream.
He put his hand on the light switch and then stopped dead, leaving us in the dark and making it so it was impossible for me not to walk straight into him. I felt my chest connect smartly with his, and found myself standing under the curve of his arm, still stretched up to reach the light switch; it was disconcerting how comfortable that position was and I hated myself for the fact that I didn't rush away from him. Having said that mind you, he wasn’t pushing me away or distancing himself either.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” he whispered, low and deep and resounding right through my chest.
“W-what?” I stammered, hopelessly inarticulate so close to his body, memories of my dream rearing up inside me.
“About your difficulties. Why didn't you tell me?”
“I didn’t want you to think I was stupid,” I muttered quickly, the truth spilling out all by itself.
“Are you?” Hannibal shot back, quick as a flash.
“No!” I knew the indignation was there and hoped he didn’t hate me for it.
“So, why would I think you were?” he seemed genuinely confused.
“Most people do,” I replied, hating the truth of my words.
Hannibal laughed quietly, “And am I most people?”
I shook my head, incapable of further speech; no he was most certainly not most people.
Suddenly he leaned in and I could feel the heat coming from his body, feel my own body responding, “So,” he whispered, right into my ear, “you got any other secrets you need to share with me? Anything else I need to know about you?”
I was insanely glad that I’d worn a pair of baggy combat shorts, knowing that the totally inappropriate erection that was currently raging in my underwear could stay hidden even as I tried to step away, to put a little space in between me and my CO before I did or said something entirely inappropriate. Hannibal looked at me sideways as I tried to back away from him a little, and his eyes were shrewd and assessing. I wondered if he was laughing at me and felt my hackles rise a little but he seemed to be genuinely studying my reaction to him.
Just as the confusion was starting to really get to me, he flicked the light switch and moved to the other side of the room. “Come here, kid,” he instructed as he walked to the table at the far side of the room, “I’ve got something to show you.”
Slipping my hands into my pockets, hoping it would help hide my stubborn hard-on, I followed him and stopped dead once again as soon as I laid eyes on the table.
A huge satellite image, almost the size of the entire table top, dominated my vision. It was obviously the camp we were due to attack next week and the image had been printed out and blown up in size so that every single point on the camp could be seen. The image was covered in a sheet of clear acetate, over written in notes and timings made in blue, red and green pen. And then, sitting on top of the image were little plastic soldiers, all different designs some with rocket launchers, some with machine guns, one throwing a hand grenade, one running and beckoning others to follow. Each of the little plastic men had a sticker on their backs with a single letter printed clearly on it. Hannibal stood in silence watching me as I wandered over to the table and stared in awe. It was the boss’ plan and my interpretation of it melded together in 3D, I was speechless.
My eyes fell on the soldier holding a rifle up on his shoulder, starring out through the scope at his mark and before I realised, my shaking hand had picked it up, turning around and looking at the bold ‘F’ on his back.
“I’ve seen you shoot,” Hannibal’s voice was quiet, coming from behind me, “and you’re a hell of a marksman, kid.”
I felt my throat tighten, I knew I was, I could hit any target I wanted over any range, but no one had ever complimented me before. My stance was wrong apparently, I was messy, I gripped the gun too tight... any one of a number of problems and the result, the cardboard man with the bullet hole between his eyes, had never mattered to those in charge. Maybe Hannibal Smith was different...
I replaced my figure on the board and just stared, my throat to too tight to speak, my pulse thumping too hard in my head to think. I felt Hannibal take a step closer to me, could feel his presence at my elbow. “So,” his voice was low and made my persistent erection twitch, “what do you think? Does this make it easier for you?”
And that was the end of me. I closed my eyes as tight as I could, hands clenching into fists but still could not suppress the sob that shook my entire frame or the damn tears that leaked through my lids and dripped onto the acetate sheet. He’d done this for me. For me. Hannibal Smith, one of the most legendary kick-ass commanders in the US army had spent god only knows how long transferring his plan into this 3D model just so that his twisted, fucked up, defective baby ranger would know what the hell to do when he went out on his first job next week. I couldn’t believe it.
“Face?” His voice was at my ear now and I hung my head, mortified that he would see me like this, acting so weak, so emotional. “What’s up kid? This no better?” And he sounded genuinely disappointed in that possibility.
I shook my head, desperate to contradict his disillusionment. “No,” I whispered, the words coming out thick and choked through my tears, “it’s perfect...”
Then he laughed and I felt a big hand on my shoulder turning me into him, another on the back of my neck, just like that day in the kitchen. “Come here,” he whispered and I just about fell onto him, so desperate for his touch, “and stop thinking that you’re not worth it,” his view into my mind was terrifyingly accurate.
How long we stood there for I have no idea, but the feel of his hand on the back of my neck, holding me tightly against his shoulder and the smooth pressure of his big palm rubbing up and down over my tense back muscles was like nothing I had ever felt before. I felt safe and valued and wanted all at the same time and if that wasn’t enough to keep the tears flowing into his t-shirt then I didn’t know what was.
Eventually, though, even my tear reservoir has to dry up and I was left feeling humiliated and disgraced by my emotional outburst. I pulled away and used my sweatshirt sleeve to scrub at my eyes, trying to turn away from the boss, trying to move back and put some space in-between us, but to my shock, he was having none of it. “Stop,” he said, his voice quiet but commanding. He reached out and took hold of my chin, turning my face up to look at him, forcing my bloodshot and puffy eyes up to his. “Don’t,” he whispered intensely and shook his head. “Don’t ever be ashamed of who you are, kid.”
I tried to turn away. I mean that’s all well and good when you are Hannibal Smith, but when you are just me, well that’s another thing altogether. He squeezed my chin in a firmer grip though and made me stay with him, his blue eyes blazing into mine. “I know what you are thinking,” he told me, and I shuddered as I felt that he actually did, “and I’m going to change your mind. I’m going to make you see yourself as I see you. Make you see the truth.” I just stared at him, it was like he actually believed that I was worth something and the thought warmed my lonely heart.
He smiled at me and ruffled my hair, glancing at his watch and moving to stand next to me, looking down at the plan. “Well, kid,” he said, pulling a cigar out from his pocket, “we’ve got about an hour and a half before the others get here for the second briefing, and I noticed you’d made a couple of changes to the plan on the copy up in your room yesterday. So... care to run me through them? Show me where I went wrong?”
I turned and stared at him in horror, expecting to see the furrowed brow of a CO not appreciating a sub pointing anything like that out to him, but all I saw was open expectation. He even smiled at me around his cigar. “I’m not infallible you know,” he told me, “and a good CO knows when to listen to his men. So that’s why I’m asking, kid, come on, show me where I went wrong.”
I tore my eyes away from him and back to the plan, the warmth in my heart spreading with every second. “Well,” I replied, my voice rough from the tears, “it’s not where you went wrong boss, it’s just where you could shave a bit of time off.”
“Show me.”
“Well,” I reached out for Spike’s figure, “if Spikey starts here and waits until you and Mario do your thing then...”
And that morning was the first time that I realised that I had, unequivocally and for all time, fallen head over heels in love with Hannibal Smith.
__________________________
End! But, wait... No hot sex for Face? After all he's gone through??? Can't have that now can we? Stay tuned for the steamy epilogue....!
Epilogue
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