Summary: On a hot night abroad, in the team's early days on the run, Hannibal and Face kill some time.
Disclaimer: I don't own the A-Team. I don't make any money from this.
"We kicked some ass today!"
"We sure did, Lieutenant."
Another mission pulled off in style. A year ago Hannibal wouldn't have put money on them even still being free and all sticking together, after that first terrible year on the run. Then, getting close to desperate for money, they'd started hiring themselves out. Not as mercenaries. No, they didn't use the M word. Say trouble-shooters instead. For those tricky jobs that needed a combination of top class military training, shameless cheek and total disregard for local laws.
And it was working out. They were doing it, doing it well. They could make a living this way.
Hannibal grinned at Face, and held out his beer bottle. Face sat up and clicked his against Hannibal's, then leaned back on the sun lounger and drank from the bottle. And kept on drinking, head back, Adam's apple bobbing up and down, as he downed the whole bottle in one.
BA muttered something that sounded disapproving, but Hannibal couldn't blame Face for getting that ice cold beer into him. The damn heat and humidity down here could drive a man crazy. Sweat plastered Face's shirt to his chest and arms and darkened his bangs. The ends of his hair curled on the back of his neck. His hair was getting long again. Hannibal should order him to cut it. Though it helped Face blend in, when they were back home, he supposed. Half the young men Hannibal saw these days seemed to have their hair down over their collars or longer.
He laughed at the thought of Face with his hair halfway down his back. What a picture. Face finished his beer and laughed back at Hannibal, though couldn't know what he was laughing about. Who cared? They had indeed kicked some ass, and the adrenaline of the victory mixed into a heady cocktail with the case of beer the clients had left for them.
"You two are drunk," BA growled.
"Not as drunk as we'll be an hour from now," Face said, still laughing.
"Right." BA finished the bottle of Coca-Cola he was drinking. "I'm going to bed. We gotta leave early in the morning. You said that yourself, Colonel."
"Yeah," Hannibal said. "Got that flight to catch."
BA muttered again. "Why we gotta rush? Should get a cruise back home. Relax some." He shook his head and stomped away along the veranda to his hotel room.
"You noticed he's getting weird about the planes?" Face said. "Keeps wanting to get a boat instead."
"Take a week to get home from here on a boat." Hannibal had noticed it though. BA had started to act oddly about flying. He'd never liked it much back in Vietnam, but he put up with it. Now in the couple of years since their escape he'd become ever more reluctant to take a plane.
"Forget South America," Face said, looking around. "At this rate we'll end up doing all our jobs within driving distance of LA." He reached into the bucket of ice and Hannibal assumed he was going for another beer. But instead he came out with a handful of ice cubes and started to rub them over his face and neck, trying to cool off. Water ran from the ice, making trails though the sheen of sweat on Face's skin, running down over his throat, onto the deep V of skin exposed by the shirt buttons he'd undone.
Stop noticing that, Hannibal commanded himself, suddenly aware of how closely he was watching Face. He distracted himself by grabbing another beer. And don't get too drunk. Not if you're going to start thinking about that again. You know what happened in Buenos Aries.
Face reached for a beer too, and his hand brushed against Hannibal's as he took it out.
"We gonna end up wrestling for the last one?" Face said with a smile.
"Sure, if you want a lesson in how experience wins every time."
"Oh, you think you can take me, do you?"
"I think..." Shit no, that's enough of that. "Maybe we can share it."
"Sounds like fun." Face popped the cap of his beer and winked at Hannibal before he drank again. It looked like he was going to down that in one go too, so Hannibal reached over and pushed his arm make him stop.
"Slow down," he said in the stern voice.
Face rolled his eyes at the tone, but he placed the beer on the armrest of the sun lounger and then shifted a bit, lying flatter. "God, it's so hot!" He undid a couple more buttons, dangled a leg over the side of the lounger and kicked off his shoe. The other one joined it a second later. His toes poked out from the hem of his trendy bell bottom jeans and he stretched the foot, spreading his toes out.
Hannibal frowned. "How'd you do that?"
"Spread your toes out like that? I can't do that."
"Oh, I'm very flexible, Hannibal, very flexible."
Hannibal knew that. And he wasn't thinking about Face's toes then. Hell no. He looked at him now, relaxed in the sun lounger, one leg still dangling over the side, the other bent up, arms resting on the armrests and head back, lithe and lean and...
Hannibal wanted him.
It came on him suddenly, as always. That urge. Tonight he blamed the beer and the adrenaline and the heat. Yeah, the heat. Sweat stuck his shirt to his back and made him want to rip his clothes off right now. And not just his...
No. Can't have him. He's off limits. Hannibal had maintained enough discipline in Vietnam to stick to that, despite some looks and hints from Face that suggested he wouldn't object. But since then, away from the Army, living so tensed up all the time, living so close...
His hair - that's what had tipped it. Hannibal had barely known what colour it was during the war, Face clipped it so short for hygiene and regulations. The face and especially the smile had been enough to tempt Hannibal then, but not enough to weaken him.
But once they went on the run, Face started to grow his hair, to lose that Army look. One day it had caught evening sunlight in just the right way and Hannibal... weakened. That had been a hell of a night. And he'd sworn never to repeat it. He'd sworn that again a couple of - no, a few - times since.
"Wonder if there's any ladies around here who'd like to join our party," Hannibal said, trying to tear his eyes away from following the line of Face's chest, down to his waist, the tilt of his hips, that bent up leg.
"There aren't," Face said. He opened his eyes and turned his head to look at Hannibal, grimacing. "Believe me, I've looked." The grimace changed to a smile and, still looking back at Hannibal, Face stretched his arms up over his head.
For a moment Hannibal was angry with him. Angry because of that look, heavy-lidded, smoky-eyed. Angry because of that back-arching stretch. Angry at Face for knowing the effect he was having on Hannibal and doing it anyway.
"Are you hot, Colonel?"
"Wanna go inside?"
"And is it any cooler inside?"
"Oh, I don't think so."
Face stood up, and moved past Hannibal, trailed a hand over his shoulder, gone before Hannibal could react to the touch. Hannibal turned to watch him walk to the door of his room. Face looked back at him.
This was wrong. So many reasons why. Screw all of them. The urge was there, growing inside him and he felt helpless. Like a man possessed. Like a hungry demon took over him for a while, and wouldn't let go until it got its satisfaction.
He drank the last of his bottle of beer and followed Face into the room.
Inside, Face reached for the light switch as Hannibal closed the door, but Hannibal caught his wrist to stop him flicking it. The moonlight was bright through the thin drapes, plenty of light for him. Face pulled his hand away and Hannibal took his arms and pushed him against the wall.
"Well, aren't you the manly one tonight?" Face said, with a sly smile.
"Stop that, Face. You know this is wrong."
"I don't give a damn." Face lost the flirtatious smile. "I want it. So do you." His arms slid around Hannibal's waist and pulled him close and Hannibal knew he couldn't deny any more that he wanted this. Face smiled again, but now with the same triumph in it as earlier today and then his mouth was on Hannibal's kissing him hard.
Hannibal didn't give a damn any more either. A last ditch protest tried to force its way out of him, but it came out as a moan and he pressed harder against Face, pressing him against the wall. His weight alone could pin Face - at least while he wasn't interested in getting away - so he let go of Face's arms, grabbed the collar of Face's shirt and yanked. Face made a muffled protest and pushed Hannibal back.
"Don't tear the buttons off! You always tear the damn buttons off and I can never find them all. You think I'm made of buttons?"
Hannibal wanted to laugh at the absurd question, but instead he smiled and regained enough control to undo the precious buttons one at a time, running his fingers down the skin revealed as each one opened. When he reached the waistband of the jeans, Face pushed his hands away, and slid the shirt off his arms, letting it fall to the floor. Hannibal pulled his own shirt off much faster, not caring about the buttons that popped off to parts unknown.
Face moved to him, kissing again, but steering him backwards too, and in a moment Hannibal's legs struck the bed. He sat down on it and lay back at once, pulling Face down with him. The bed groaned and sagged in the middle, and Hannibal hoped it would support them or there'd be some embarrassing explanations in the morning.
They had that wrestling match now that they'd talked of earlier, but with a sweeter prize than the last bottle of beer. Hannibal tried to flip Face onto his back, but Face laughed and resisted and with a swift move, he straddled Hannibal. He knelt with his legs either side of Hannibal's waist and Hannibal stared up at him in the moonlight, grinning, triumphant and just fucking magnificent. Face rested some of his weight down on Hannibal and moved his hips a little bit. Teasing. Arousing Hannibal further with the motion.
"God, Face, you're driving me crazy."
"That's my job, Colonel. That's my job. Now, I don't think there's much you can do for me while I still have my pants on."
Hannibal took his cue and reached at once for Face's belt buckle. Face watched him as Hannibal slid the belt from its loops, tossed it away and started to unbutton the fly.
"Tonight, I get mine first," he said, in a quiet voice. Hannibal didn't argue. Tonight, Face got his first.
It only seemed to happen when they were abroad. Maybe it was the heat. Or something in the air. Maybe it was because they tended to not trust the water supply and drank a lot of beer. Yeah, it could have a lot to do with that part.
And maybe it meant it didn't count.
Times like this too. Transition time. The mission done, dead hours while they waited for their transport home. Time to rest and talk and do nothing.
Nothing that counted.
Face lay on the sagging bed and listened to the shower running. Maybe he should go join Hannibal in there? No. He knew he wouldn't be welcomed.
It was done. Over. Until the next time. Once the frenzy of it ended, the hunger sated, Hannibal went back to being the Colonel.
Until the next time.
The shower stopped running. It would be a few minutes before Hannibal emerged, Face knew. He'd dry off and get dressed in there. He certainly wouldn't come in here and walk around in a towel, comfortable and relaxed, as a man would in front of his lover.
They weren't that.
No, they weren't that for sure. That would mean thinking of themselves differently. He knew Hannibal didn't want to think of himself as queer, any more than Face did. It's just... well, sometimes there were no women around when they both happened to really want to... and Hannibal had that charisma. Animal magnetism.
Of course Face would always choose a girl for preference; he always told himself. Would Hannibal? He kept talking about becoming an actor. Not exactly a profession teeming with straight guys. Face had turned down enough passes to know that.
Hannibal came out of the bathroom, dressed right down to his socks. He strapped on his watch as he walked.
"Get some sleep," he said. "Long journey in the morning."
So that’s it, huh? Face thought. No 'thanks for the fuck', just 'get some sleep'. He scowled. He wanted a kiss. He decided it suddenly. Not that he really wanted a kiss in itself; he just wanted... he wanted... he didn't know what. To make Hannibal come over here, that's all. He sat up against the headboard, the sheet pushed down to his waist. Under the sheet he bent one leg up slowly.
He put on the smouldering look. He'd worn it in Vietnam a few times, after he'd decided a pass from Hannibal wouldn't be entirely unwelcome. Was sure he'd seen a familiar kind of look from the Colonel a few times. Face knew that look well. But the more hints Face dropped, the less he saw that look from Hannibal. Too strange. All his life, Face had got what he wanted thanks to his looks. Who was this guy to resist so easily? He gave up in the end. Only later, after the escape did he start to see that look again.
"Maybe we should have shared that shower?" Face said.
"That shower is way too small to share. It was crowded with one."
"The bed's big enough for two." Whoa, that wasn't what he'd planned to say. He'd wanted to draw Hannibal over here, just to prove that not even Hannibal could resist. Now he was inviting him to stay the night? Which was stupid, because that never happened.
"Thanks, but I'd better go back to my room."
"Oh sure, whatever you want." Face failed to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Just using me, that's all. Got what he wanted and we're done, till he gets that itch again. He pulled the sheet right up to his neck, dragged the blankets to follow, even though it was far too hot for even one blanket.
Hannibal sighed and shook his head. He sounded sad, not impatient, at Face's anger.
"This is why this is a bad idea. I'm sorry. It won't happen again."
"Damn right it won't."
But it would. As long as there were more nights like this - hotel rooms in foreign locales, dead time, waiting time. Nights when the beer and adrenaline flowed. He turned away from Hannibal to look at the wall and waited to hear the door close. Waited. Hannibal was still in the room. Would he speak? Would he come over here after all?
The door closed. Face closed his eyes.
It's not supposed to hurt like this to hear him go. It's not supposed to mean anything. Well, it didn't mean anything. Not the sex anyway. What happened afterwards, that meant something. It meant Hannibal couldn't even stand to kiss him goodnight half an hour after screwing him.
Nobody can say that didn't mean something.