Fuck My Life
Prompt: We don't know how Face and Hannibal met, it isn't shown in the movie. So what if Face was transfered to Hannibal as some kind of punishment ? So he is pissed and goes off for a one night stand to take his mind off things. He ends up spending the night with Hannibal ...
I want their first meeting as CO-team member the next morning ...
By now, Templeton Peck had had as many different commanding officers as foster homes growing up.
Burton had put up with him the longest - eight whole months - out of sheer bloody determination to win the officers' betting pool on who could handle Lt. 'Faceman' Peck's outrageous behavior the longest, and not murder him in his sleep.
Face didn't follow those rumors too closely beyond finding out how much the betting pool had increased each month. It was currently around five figures, last he'd heard.
Burton's finally going to get that convertible he's always wanted, thought Face, throwing back his nth drink of the night. He'd lost count a couple hours ago. He sucked his teeth, rolling the glass in his hand, and reminded himself that this was it: he'd wallow in this pathetic, teenage self-pity fest (I joined the army so I wouldn't feel worthless) only for the night. In the morning he'd have to report to his new CO.
Another drink, another self-criticism, another--
"Fuck it," muttered Face, pressing the heel of his hand against his closed eye. He huffed, running his hand up and through his hair. He needed a pick-me-up that didn't involve alcohol, something to distract him from the utter hopeless, uncontrollable--
Okay, right, distraction. He leaned an elbow against the bar and casually turned a little to start checking out who else was at the bar. A couple of older women drinking quietly together, a group of co-eds occupying a corner booth with the last bit of food out of the kitchen for the night, a dozen of other loners lost in their drinks or the sports on the TV hanging in the corner or both.
Then an older man slides into the seat next to him and Face forgets to look surprised as the guy calmly takes a sip of his own drink - whiskey, he looks like a whiskey guy, thinks Face - as if he''d been sitting there all night.
"So, you've finally made up your mind?" he said.
"Yeah," Face said automatically. He blinked. "About what?"
The guy smirked at him. "Getting laid tonight."
He falls back on the lazy, playboy grin that is his trademark. Glancing down at his drink, then back up at the other man's sharp blue-grey eyes. "Am I that easy to read?"
"It looked like you were having an off night."
"Having an off life," he said, hand tightening around his empty glass.
"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but if you drank any more I'd be better off going home alone." And damn, if that guy didn't sound sincere when he said that; Face couldn't help but laugh.
"You're probably right," he admitted, but he still leaned forward and nicked the guy's drink - yep, whiskey - to wet his lips with, just so that he could take his time licking the taste of it off with his tongue as slowly as possible. Face wasn't too far gone that he didn't see how much the guy was holding himself back from doing something unspeakable sexy to him.
Hello there; yeah, he definitely was still there enough to get a hard on.
"So, where's home for you?"
xxx
The car ride's long enough for Face to spill his guts in a drunken, manly way but short enough to keep the sexual tension rising between them.
After Face relates the story about the incident that saw the end of Burton's patience (involving seagulls, ice cream, identical twin candy stripers, and a helicopter that now existed in two separate halves), the guy lets out a whistle and comments on how his life doesn't seem that bad really.
"Not for a lucky guy like you," he said.
"'M not lucky," mumbled Face, actually blushing a little at the appraising look the guy gives him.
"Must be pretty lucky to not have been court martialed yet."
Face sighs exaggeratedly. "This is the last time I'm getting lucky then."
"Yeah?"
"Might as well make the most of it," said Face, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt.
They were parked, out of the car, and into the house in no time.
xxx
Face has never thought of sex as anything more than a good time, but somewhere between the first exhilarating round of anticipated sex and the much needed break to snack on some bread and rehydrate...
"I feel like I should be having angry sex," said Face, munching on a crusty end of wheat bread, "what with my military career going down the drain and all."
"I didn't think it was that bad," said the other man, popping the top up on a bottle of water.
"Oh no, no, it was great. Really great."
"The sex or your career?"
Face laughed. Another thing he didn't think he'd be doing when he'd been feeling so miserable only a few hours ago. "Both. I'm just saying..." He laughed, more awkwardly, in the patient silence. "Hell, I don't know what I'm saying. Fuck my life, or something like that."
The conversation dwindles after that as they start in on the second, more calmer, round of sex. Somehow, Face thinks, with this complete stranger he -- well, he picked him up in a civilian bar...
It just works.
xxx
Face takes a cab back to base. He thinks he should've asked for that guy's number, or hell, his name even; but he figures that whoever gets strapped with him next is going to be taking him out on some godforsaken mission anyway, so what's the point?
At least I know where he lives.
"You're late, Peck," snaps Burton, waving a file of papers at him as he strolls across the street.
"I wanted to make a good impression on my new boss." Face smiled.
"You've got to deal with Hannibal Smith now, kid," said Burton, leading the way into one of the nondescript buildings. "The guy's a legend, you know. He doesn't put up with bullshit. He's a man that always gets the job done."
"You've met him, sir?"
Burton stopped outside of one of the offices with frosted glass windows. "Well, no, but everyone's heard of him. He's not a guy you want to fuck with."
Face sees him as soon as Burton opens the door. He leaned against the desk, dressed in army fatigues that suit his look much better than civilian clothes had - the guy practically had military man stamped on his forehead, it should've been so obvious - smoking a cigar despite the fact that this was the States and it was illegal to smoke inside almost any building whatsoever. And God, Hannibal - Hannibal! - smirked at him right then the same way he had only twelve hours before.
Face grinned. "All due respect, sir; I think I'll enjoy fucking with him," he said, shooting a wink at Burton's incredulous face, "just to see how long he lasts."
@ a_team_kink
I want their first meeting as CO-team member the next morning ...
By now, Templeton Peck had had as many different commanding officers as foster homes growing up.
Burton had put up with him the longest - eight whole months - out of sheer bloody determination to win the officers' betting pool on who could handle Lt. 'Faceman' Peck's outrageous behavior the longest, and not murder him in his sleep.
Face didn't follow those rumors too closely beyond finding out how much the betting pool had increased each month. It was currently around five figures, last he'd heard.
Burton's finally going to get that convertible he's always wanted, thought Face, throwing back his nth drink of the night. He'd lost count a couple hours ago. He sucked his teeth, rolling the glass in his hand, and reminded himself that this was it: he'd wallow in this pathetic, teenage self-pity fest (I joined the army so I wouldn't feel worthless) only for the night. In the morning he'd have to report to his new CO.
Another drink, another self-criticism, another--
"Fuck it," muttered Face, pressing the heel of his hand against his closed eye. He huffed, running his hand up and through his hair. He needed a pick-me-up that didn't involve alcohol, something to distract him from the utter hopeless, uncontrollable--
Okay, right, distraction. He leaned an elbow against the bar and casually turned a little to start checking out who else was at the bar. A couple of older women drinking quietly together, a group of co-eds occupying a corner booth with the last bit of food out of the kitchen for the night, a dozen of other loners lost in their drinks or the sports on the TV hanging in the corner or both.
Then an older man slides into the seat next to him and Face forgets to look surprised as the guy calmly takes a sip of his own drink - whiskey, he looks like a whiskey guy, thinks Face - as if he''d been sitting there all night.
"So, you've finally made up your mind?" he said.
"Yeah," Face said automatically. He blinked. "About what?"
The guy smirked at him. "Getting laid tonight."
He falls back on the lazy, playboy grin that is his trademark. Glancing down at his drink, then back up at the other man's sharp blue-grey eyes. "Am I that easy to read?"
"It looked like you were having an off night."
"Having an off life," he said, hand tightening around his empty glass.
"I'd offer to buy you a drink, but if you drank any more I'd be better off going home alone." And damn, if that guy didn't sound sincere when he said that; Face couldn't help but laugh.
"You're probably right," he admitted, but he still leaned forward and nicked the guy's drink - yep, whiskey - to wet his lips with, just so that he could take his time licking the taste of it off with his tongue as slowly as possible. Face wasn't too far gone that he didn't see how much the guy was holding himself back from doing something unspeakable sexy to him.
Hello there; yeah, he definitely was still there enough to get a hard on.
"So, where's home for you?"
xxx
The car ride's long enough for Face to spill his guts in a drunken, manly way but short enough to keep the sexual tension rising between them.
After Face relates the story about the incident that saw the end of Burton's patience (involving seagulls, ice cream, identical twin candy stripers, and a helicopter that now existed in two separate halves), the guy lets out a whistle and comments on how his life doesn't seem that bad really.
"Not for a lucky guy like you," he said.
"'M not lucky," mumbled Face, actually blushing a little at the appraising look the guy gives him.
"Must be pretty lucky to not have been court martialed yet."
Face sighs exaggeratedly. "This is the last time I'm getting lucky then."
"Yeah?"
"Might as well make the most of it," said Face, starting to undo the buttons of his shirt.
They were parked, out of the car, and into the house in no time.
xxx
Face has never thought of sex as anything more than a good time, but somewhere between the first exhilarating round of anticipated sex and the much needed break to snack on some bread and rehydrate...
"I feel like I should be having angry sex," said Face, munching on a crusty end of wheat bread, "what with my military career going down the drain and all."
"I didn't think it was that bad," said the other man, popping the top up on a bottle of water.
"Oh no, no, it was great. Really great."
"The sex or your career?"
Face laughed. Another thing he didn't think he'd be doing when he'd been feeling so miserable only a few hours ago. "Both. I'm just saying..." He laughed, more awkwardly, in the patient silence. "Hell, I don't know what I'm saying. Fuck my life, or something like that."
The conversation dwindles after that as they start in on the second, more calmer, round of sex. Somehow, Face thinks, with this complete stranger he -- well, he picked him up in a civilian bar...
It just works.
xxx
Face takes a cab back to base. He thinks he should've asked for that guy's number, or hell, his name even; but he figures that whoever gets strapped with him next is going to be taking him out on some godforsaken mission anyway, so what's the point?
At least I know where he lives.
"You're late, Peck," snaps Burton, waving a file of papers at him as he strolls across the street.
"I wanted to make a good impression on my new boss." Face smiled.
"You've got to deal with Hannibal Smith now, kid," said Burton, leading the way into one of the nondescript buildings. "The guy's a legend, you know. He doesn't put up with bullshit. He's a man that always gets the job done."
"You've met him, sir?"
Burton stopped outside of one of the offices with frosted glass windows. "Well, no, but everyone's heard of him. He's not a guy you want to fuck with."
Face sees him as soon as Burton opens the door. He leaned against the desk, dressed in army fatigues that suit his look much better than civilian clothes had - the guy practically had military man stamped on his forehead, it should've been so obvious - smoking a cigar despite the fact that this was the States and it was illegal to smoke inside almost any building whatsoever. And God, Hannibal - Hannibal! - smirked at him right then the same way he had only twelve hours before.
Face grinned. "All due respect, sir; I think I'll enjoy fucking with him," he said, shooting a wink at Burton's incredulous face, "just to see how long he lasts."
@ a_team_kink