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This page last viewed: 2017-10-23 and has been viewed 1278 times
Rating: Soooooo NC-17
Dates Written: August 15th, 2001 - August 15th, 2001
Disclaimer: Man, I tell you, if they were mine, the things I'd do . . . but since they aren't and never will be, I can't, and more's the pity, so this will have to suffice.
Warnings: This has got sex in it. A big scene of rather graphically described sex. If male/female sex totally squicks you, you may want to avoid it this story.
Episode Spoilers: Without Reservations and Whatever the name of the episode where Face tries to go off on his own . . .
Summary: Hannibal needs cheering up
Comments: No Private Comments Please. If you can't say something you want everyone to see, then please don't say anything at all. If you hate this story, simply hit the delete key, the back space, or you can print it, burn it, or shred it, and you'll work out your aggressions and I'll continue in blissful ignorance thinking this is an acceptable scribble.
The older, obviously charismatic man with a head of pure white hair and steel blue eyes sat at the table in the crowded hotel suite, and listened, as a younger woman who could have been his daughter, tried every method in the book on him to get him into bed with her, even as she swallowed up the expensive champagne that flowed like water that night. It was a very poor attempt at seduction, and he knew the only way he'd be able to shut her up, was to actually seduce her – a proposition whose result would have normally made the older man, Colonel John Smith, 'Hannibal' to almost everybody else, most anticipatory. With the experience brought about only through age, he tuned out the younger woman and made it seem as if he doted on every word she said, even as he looked over her shoulder, out the window, and into the night.
It was his birthday, and it was supposed to have been a good one. His three best friends, collectively known as the A-Team – a group almost constantly on the run for a crime that though they had committed, it had been ordered by the military and then later denied – had tried their hardest to assure that he had been happy on this day, and for the most part, he was. Why wouldn't he have been happy? He still had his health (or most of it anyway), he had his friends, he had a great job he loved, which consisted of playing monsters in movies (not good movies, but he liked them and that was what counted), and he had his Robin Hood fantasy to pursue when life got too boring for him otherwise.
So, he should have been happy.
But he wasn't, although it wouldn't have been he if he had shown it, and he glanced around the room. His eyes fell upon the younger, very handsome, suave, sophisticated man, Lieutenant Templeton Peck, with the explicable nickname of Face, who sat at the bar and chatted up a young lovely. Face had planned this evening very carefully, and the older man wouldn't have hurt him for the entire world by showing him he wasn't enjoying himself quite as much as he knew he should have been. He flashed a grin at Face, who had the almost uncanny knack of knowing when people were looking at him, and the younger, blond haired, blue-eyed man gazed at Hannibal's companion and winked, then returned his attention to his own female.
The man briefly returned his full attention to the younger woman across from him and put his hand over hers in a soundless encouragement to continue, and as he'd planned, she did. He almost laughed aloud. His plans, as someone had once said, rarely worked the way they were supposed to, but they did work, and as the younger woman chatted away at him, his attention wandered to the loudest end of the room.
There was a bevy of beauties, and even some of their escorts, swarmed around the tall, thin male with the thinning brown hair and leather jacket, and laughter completely filled that corner of the suite. Hannibal smiled indulgently at the man who seemed oblivious to anyone but his audience. Hannibal knew that they truly were 'his' audience. When Captain HM Murdock, Howling Mad Murdock to his friends, told his outrageous stories, usually complete with sound effects and grandly gestured visuals, no one else registered in the room for him. Or so he'd thought, as his and the pilot's eyes met. He saw Murdock's eyebrow as it raised slightly, and the man's head tilted curiously. Murdock had spent years in a VA hospital, and was more sensitive to people's emotions than most, and Hannibal knew that Murdock had caught his wandering attention.
The older man flashed another grin, as bright and as sincerely 'Hannibal' as he could, and casually swept his gaze to another corner of the suite, and made it seem as if he were just checking on the fourth member of their team, one bigger, Negro man with lots and lots of gold jewelry and a Mohawk haircut. The man was known to the world as Sergeant B.A. Baracus, which may have once stood for Bosco something, but which had taken on the moniker of Bad Attitude, for that was what he was supposed to have had. Hannibal, however, knew differently, unless one was a bad guy muscling innocents and people weaker than they . . . then the Bad Attitude name was painfully true.
B.A. was next to the food table and his eyes too met Hannibal's as, no doubt from their long association, he felt the older man's eyes on him, and he looked up from the woman who had him engaged fairly deeply in conversation. B.A. frowned at Hannibal's giggling companion, then Hannibal shrugged nonchalantly at him, as if he were amused at her behavior rather than weary of it, and he returned his attention to her. He looked at her through his older eyes, and was not as impressed with her charms as he had thought he would have been, or indeed, would have been normally.
He excused himself and went into the other set of rooms in the suite and escaped into the far bathroom for a moment, if only to give himself a moment of peace. He leaned his hands on the sink, then looked into the mirror critically at himself. When had he gotten those wrinkles? When had his body become more out-of-shape than in? Oh, he knew that he was more than a match for most people his age . . . he shook his head and tried to ignore that last thought.
It wasn't age he was feeling. He'd never felt it before. Therefore, it must have been the burden of Leadership. That was it. It was that he had to keep the three out there in the other room surrounded by admirers, safe. He'd almost lost them all at one point in time, and each Almost-Loss had diminished him in his personal beliefs in his abilities to keep them from harm, and indeed, even, at times, to continue leading them. The most recent had been the youngest of them all, Face.
Face had been shot while out to dinner. Not on a mission, not because one of Hannibal's plans had gone wrong, but because he'd been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Hannibal himself had been blissfully unaware of the shooting until Murdock had managed to get a message out via a pizza and a message for help written in anchovies. What he and B.A.'d found upon arriving to the restaurant, had been Face on the floor with a bullet hole in him the size of Vesuvius and hostages awaiting the arrival of a marked-for-assassination Attorney General. They'd managed to stop the assassination, and save Face (he grimaced at his own unintentional pun), but it had been way too close for his comfort, or his peace of mind. Face was like a son to him, whether he had ever told the younger man or not, and Face had almost died on him that day. Along with Face, a lot of Hannibal's own enthusiasm for carrying on the job had gone as well. He wanted to grow old with them . . . or at least older. He wanted to watch them have children, homes, pets. He wanted for them the same things they had spoken of time and time again as wanting for themselves.
"Damn it!" He cursed aloud. "How the hell much longer can I expect them to follow me? How much longer before one of them is killed because I did something, or DIDN'T do something to prevent it!?" He slammed out of the bathroom and into the opulent bedroom beyond, then started, almost visibly. His years of military training stood him in good stead, and he appeared to merely assess the person who had startled him as she sat quietly on the edge of the bed.
It was a Caucasian female, and she was short. He would have said petite, but she was maybe ten to fifteen pounds overweight, so that knocked petite out of the running. However, she had a pleasant enough face that was surrounded by shoulder-blade length, light brown hair streaked with blonde, and she had to be in her early to mid-thirties. She stood, and he noticed that her eyes were a pale grey-blue. Not completely unusual as to stand out all that much, but they were different in the same way that his eyes were different. He couldn't help but notice that even with the weight, her body proportions were pleasing to his ever-so-manly eyes, and she smiled as he continued his mental categorizing of her and ran his eyes over the long, spaghetti-strapped black gown down to the seemingly impossibly high heels she wore.
She wasn't exactly the type he usually liked or would go for, were he even interested in going for her, but there was something about her that appealed to him. Maybe it was the intelligence that shone from her steady, un-inebriated eyes, or the way her lips curved upward and a strand of hair fell over her shoulder and curled under the thin strap of her gown, or maybe it was just the easily confident way she carried herself.
"You seem unhappy." She commented, and he frowned at her intrusiveness, then decided he liked her steady, uncomplicated voice.
"I'm fine." He answered shortly, and she nodded.
"Fine in the same way Porcelain is fine . . . great until there's too much pressure placed on it, and then it breaks." She shrugged. "However, if you don't want to talk about it, I can respect that, but I kind of have some bad news about your date."
Hannibal ran a quick hand over his eyes. "What's wrong?"
"Other than the obvious, you mean?" She laughed, and he couldn't help but respond to the sound, and smile himself, despite his mood, he decided he liked her laughter as it was cheerful and loud, not the false tittering and giggling he'd withstood earlier. "Seriously, she had a little more champagne than was good for her, and well, she's a little . . . indisposed at the moment, and may be for the rest of the night. Gotta' feel sorry for her though. Can't say she didn't try. Poor girl was hoping to wake up with Hannibal Smith and instead she's going to wake up with the worst headache she's probably ever had." She added as if in afterthought, then tilted her head at him, as he rubbed his own temples and a headache that he'd been ignoring all evening decided to make itself known.
"Well." He said after a minute and tried to delay his return to the party, and justified it by grilling a possibly potential threat to his men, as unlikely as that seemed. "You know me, but who are you? I didn't see you arrive."
"But I must have, or else I wouldn't be here." She answered, and he had to agree that she had a point. "But if I had a name, what would you like it to be?"
"What kind of a question is that?" He frowned, and she sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.
"I thought it was a perfectly clear one, but if you can't think of a name you want to call me, then Angelique will do." She wrinkled her nose. "Although I would have thought that you would have been more creative."
"Angelique is a nice name." He defended for unknown reasons, and she shrugged.
She snorted and held out her hands. "Yeah. And, I so look like an Angelique." She shook her head. "Anyway, I was sent in here to see if you were all right." She tilted her head at him. "And I can see that you aren't."
"I'm fine." He repeated stubbornly, and she nodded.
"Yup. That's why you stormed out of the bathroom yelling about getting your people killed. And that's also why you're rubbing your temples like you're trying to set fire to that wonderful head of hair of yours." Hannibal scowled, and knew she was right, and that there was no way he could deny the truth, even if he'd wanted to. "Come here, Mr. Smith." She waved at him from the bed, and he looked at her suspiciously.
"Why?" He asked, and she laughed again.
"Because I'm going to seduce you and spend the entire night ravishing you." She answered sarcastically, and he couldn't help but grin at that even as she sighed. "Seriously. It's because you have a headache and I know Massage Therapy. Besides, you really don't seem in any hurry to return to what's left of the party, and now that your date's going to spend the rest of the night with her head down, there's no reason you have to go back, especially with the headache and indeed, the heartache you obviously have. And, after all, you did enjoy the most important part of it."
"What do you mean?" He finally surrendered to the need to lie down as his headache increased, and she rested his head in her lap on the soft velvet of her dress, then placed her cool hands on his temples and ran her fingers in slow circles.
"The reason for the party in the first place." She shrugged. "To spend time with your friends and to have all of you affirmed in another year of health."
"You can't be one of Stockwell's people." Hannibal snorted. "You'd know it hasn't been a year of health."
"Well, maybe not physically, that's true." She nodded, and he watched her lips curl upward again in a soft smile, and resisted the temptation to touch them. "But there's more than one way to be healthy. I mean, look at Murdock. A year ago, he was where?"
"In a VA hospital."
"With no hope of release. And where is he now?"
"With us." Hannibal admitted grudgingly.
"And B.A.? How's he?"
Hannibal sat up and scowled at her. "Look, Lady, I don't know who you are or how you know so much about us, but I don't like it . . ."
"My name's Angelique and I'm here. If I had no knowledge of you, I wouldn't be here, right? This isn't exactly a well-known party spot for crashers, nor it is well-known fact that The A-Team is celebrating their Leaders' birthday here on the top floor of one of the more exclusive hotels that are usually only affordable by say, politicians and other government types, is it?" She had a point – again – and with a sigh he leaned back into her lap and she resumed her self-appointed task of relieving his headache . . . and his heartache too, he suspected, and he wondered if she really could.
"B.A.'s calmed down a lot." He finally admitted. "He's certainly easier to get along with. Even he and Murdock don't bicker quite as much as they did."
"And then there's Face." She smiled. "Notice anything different about him?"
"He's alive." Hannibal answered promptly, and she smiled into his eyes as she moved her fingers over his forehead, then down the sides of his face, and he relaxed into the pressure. "But there's more." He continued on thoughtfully, as he buried his head even deeper into her lap, and closed his eyes. "It's like he's fit into himself somehow. Like he's not trying so hard to be something or someone he isn't. It's like when he got rid of the suits he got rid of this weight he carried around . . . this need he had to constantly prove who and what he was and what he was capable of."
"That's it." She nodded and moved her fingers into his collar and he tipped his head up as he unbuttoned the first few buttons so she could get to his neck, and she bent her head down further until her face was all he could see, and he looked into her eyes.
"But is this what they want?" His voice was low and she tilted her head at him and slipped her hands under his shirt to his shoulders.
"None of them have left, have they?"
"Face tried." Hannibal sighed, and she laughed out loud.
"Tried? That misguided attempt at attention seeking? Hannibal, he could have left you easily if he'd really, really wanted to. He could have jumped into the bushes at any time at the side of the road and just hidden until the bad guys passed him and kept on walking."
"But he didn't." Hannibal reached up and pushed her curtain of hair away from her face, and his fingers rested lightly on either side of her face, even as he finally gave in to the temptation, and ran a thumb over her lips, which opened slightly.
"And he could no more leave you, than you could leave him. Do you know why they stay with you, Hannibal Smith?" She asked her breath warm on his face.
"Because they don't have any choice?" He asked and she leaned forward and rested her forehead on his as she chuckled, and his hands moved down her own neck to her shoulders, bare but for the thin straps of velvet.
"Do you have any choice?" She laughed into his forehead.
"I could leave. It's not like I don't have options." He answered and ran his fingers over her skin, and smiled as he heard the tiny gasp of obvious pleasure.
"And do the others not have the same options?" She raised her head as his thumbs slid under the straps, even as she continued massaging his neck, then his collarbone, and undid more buttons on his dress shirt to gain access to his chest, as she traced her lips across his cheek.
"I guess." His voice was slightly gravelly as he slid the straps off her shoulders and ran the very tip of his tongue over her throat. "I never asked."
"Then maybe you should." She inhaled deeply and arched her neck upward as her hands opened the last of his shirt's buttons, and her massage became caresses. "However, I'm a woman, Hannibal Smith, and I know why they stay with you. It's safe for me to say it. It's because they love you. They love you just like you do them. Because you're all a family."
"True." He finally agreed. "And maybe I should tell them that . . ." He looked at the woman as she bent over him, and smiled. "But not tonight." He sat up and she helped him off with his shirt, then dropped it to the floor. She ran her hands over his back, and knelt behind him, then breathed outward as she ran her hands through his hair and her lips lightly across his neck.
"Definitely not tonight." She ran her hands down his face, then over his shoulders and down to his chest. He turned around and gazed into her eyes as he took both the straps of her velvet gown and slid them off her arms.
He pressed his face into the curve of her neck and she gasped as he gently sucked on the skin and ran his lips upward until they touched her own lips. He teased the outer line of them with his tongue, and her lips softened, then opened under the gentle pressure he offered. She slipped her arms up and encircled his neck with her hands, as her mouth opened fully and his tongue met hers for the first time.
Neither one was sure who groaned first, and neither cared as the kiss deepened but stayed gentle, and he slid the gown from her upper body. She arched into his hands as he gently ran questing and experienced fingers over the swells of her breasts and she gasped as his thumbs made contact with her stiffened nipples. Her mouth opened further and he lowered her to the pillows as his hands slid down over her stomach and beneath the lowered top of the gown. She trembled in his hands, but continued the kiss, as her fingers traced light trails over his own body, and he couldn't stop the moan of pleasure as her nails lightly raked over his own nipples and her hands undid the belt he wore, then removed it and dropped it to the floor.
He kicked off his shoes and let them drop to the floor as well, and she sat up and gently pushed him to the bed as she pulled up her gown over her head and dropped it on top of the rest of their clothing, then straddled him. He went to speak, but she placed a finger over his lips and leaned over him. "We start with you tonight, Hannibal." She said, her tone soft and sultry as her grey-blue eyes darkened to almost a navy blue. "Tonight I will get to take care of you."
"I don't do passive." He growled, but then lifted his head as she ran her tongue and lips in a warm trail from his mouth, down his neck to his chest. He arched his lower body up, into hers, as she passed over his still-covered hardened shaft, and he couldn't stop the low groan that left his throat, as her hands followed the path of her mouth. She buried her face in his groin and he arched as she slowly undid the hook, and then drew the zipper downward. He lifted himself from the bed and she slid first his pants over his hips, then his briefs, then both went down his legs slowly enough so that he seriously thought about just ripping the things off his legs. Finally, as he was about to jump up and finish the job himself, she dropped them to the floor. She dragged her hair and her tongue all the way back up and slid her breasts up his legs as he clenched the bedcovers in his fists as he gave himself over to the sensuousness of her movements.
She lay herself over his legs and the gasp of pure pleasure that left him as she unexpectedly took him into her mouth surprised him more than her actions had. He couldn't stop himself and he arched upward as she pulled back, then ran her tongue around him and along the vein that seemed to be one long nerve ending made strictly for pleasure. He barely felt her hands as they snaked up his torso and over his chest, but then she raked her nails over his nipples again, and his body jolted, even as she thrust her tongue under the cleft of the shaft she held captive.
As he'd said, he didn't do passive, and she had driven him almost over the edge of need and desire, and he couldn't wait any longer. He pulled her up to him and then almost threw her to the pillows and lowered his weight onto her. She wrapped her arms around his body and even in the throes of passion, he was gentle, and his tongue asked permission to enter her mouth.
Eagerly, she opened her mouth under Hannibal's and the gentleness turned into wanton need, and she took what he offered as she pressed her body against his and their lips sealed themselves together. Her moans filled his mouth, and he cupped his hand around her breast and his fingers stimulated her already hardened nipples. She arched into him, and he slid his mouth down, over her chin to her neck and a gasp was almost torn from her and his hands slid down to her hips, and his mouth lay a trail of hot, sensuous kisses over he shoulders until he found his objective, and she trembled and whimpered as his tongue found the same place his fingers had been only moments before.
Her leg bent upward, and of it's own volition, her body slid against his and demanded more, much more, from the handsome, older man. He slid his hand over her thigh, and his mouth moved to the other breast and gave it the same attention he had the other. Her nails dug into his shoulders and her hips jerked upward as his other hand opened her to him. He moved back to her mouth and demanded her tongue, which she gave freely and with a series of small cries as her hips moved convulsively against him and ground her head into the pillows.
With the experience of well-practiced technique, he angled his hips over her, and her thighs opened to him. Her eyes opened, and he steadied her with a hand on the thigh of her bent leg, and she trembled in anticipation, as her pupils dilated and she panted. Slowly, he introduced himself into her, and her eyes closed as he moved his hips in a slow circle. Her breath came faster as he teased her and she almost wept.
"Hannibal, please." She begged. "Please, do it now, Hannibal!" He answered her plea with a thrust and penetrated her fully. With a loud cry, her entire body arched into him, and her nails dug into his back as she pressed him to her as her body shook violently. He grinned and thrust his tongue between her lips, and pushed into her once again. She rose to meet him, and the two of them moved together as their hands became frenzied and searched for new places to explore and touch. They elicited groans, cries, moans and whimpers from each other as their pace steadily increased. Angelique wrapped her thighs around Hannibal's hips, and tucked her arms around his back under his arms, and their bodies moved, literally and seamlessly, as one.
Suddenly, she cried out his name in abandoned anticipation, as heat spread from her pelvis that had so melded with Hannibal's, and moved up her body in a slow shockwave that built with each thrust of his hips. Suddenly, she threw her head back, ground it into the pillow, and her nails almost dug trenches into his back as the electric feeling of her climax made her literally scream, and her whole body froze around him.
As her body convulsed around and under him and her raw scream of unplanned ecstasy filled his ears, he couldn't stop his own orgasm as it completely took over his body and every sensation he possessed. He couldn't keep his own cry of passion inside himself, and he buried his face in her shoulder and clutched her hips with bruising fingers as his body closed around hers, and he filled her violently shaking body with his own release.
A moment later, when he could breathe again, and was aware, he collapsed on top of her, and they held each other as they waited for the aftershocks to pass and for their breathing to resume some normalcy. He kissed her grinning face and knew that the same sated grin she wore was on his face. She ran her hands through his sweaty hair, and then sighed as he gently pulled out of her, then slipped onto his side. She turned her head toward him and rested it in the crook of his arm as he traced lazy circles around her breasts with a languid finger.
"Happy birthday." She chuckled at him when she could speak, and he threw his head back and laughed.
"You too." And they were both giddy with laughter for a few moments, until she snuggled into his arms, and sighed deeply.
"Angelique . . ." He said a moment later, and he couldn't stop the yawn that seemed to come from his toes. "Is this goodbye?"
"You can't say goodbye if you never said hello." She answered cryptically, and he frowned.
"I'm never going to see you again, am I?" He asked and fought the sleep that threatened to take him over.
"Never's an awfully long time, Hannibal." She answered and lightly kissed his chin. "But it's not like you don't have anything to fill the waiting period."
"Like the Team." He sighed, and laid his head on the softness of her hair.
"Right. Like the Team you love and who loves you. Family comes in more than just the neat little packages the media's fed to people." She stroked his shoulders and he sighed.
"And what about you?" His voice grew faint and he felt the familiar grogginess in his mind as his body slowly gave over to the impending darkness of Morpheus. "What have you got?"
"Memories. Dreams. Fantasies." Her whisper filled his mind, and it was the last thing he thought as he slipped into a restful, and for the first time in a long time, dreamless, sleep.
When he woke, he knew that he was alone, and it was morning. He slowly opened his eyes and felt the sun as it shone warm on his face, then smelled the slightly musky, rose scented perfume that Angelique had worn, and knew that he had not had one of the most erotic dreams of his life, that she'd actually existed. He turned his head and looked at the pillow next to his head, and laughed as he saw a brilliant red rose wrapped with the delicate silk scarf she'd worn around her neck. He couldn't help but wonder how many times he too had left something like that as a calling card to his paramours, no matter how briefly they had known each other, and he couldn't dislike her for her gesture, no matter how odd it was to be on the receiving end of it, especially at his age.
At his age.
He noted – with interest – that thought didn't trouble him at all, and he thought it again just to make sure, and sure enough, it wasn't even a treble on any Richter scale anywhere. After all, he reflected as he showered, he had his health, he had his friends, he had a job he loved, and he had his Robin hood Life to pursue when he got bored. With a wide smile that bordered on a grin he also noted that even though he'd exercised most enthusiastically the night before, he felt better than he had in a very long time. He scrubbed himself down, almost euphorically dressed, then grabbed the scarf and the rose that Angelique had left him, and, feeling younger than he had in a long time, he almost strutted out the door of the bedroom, and into the main living room of the suite.
He stopped and looked over the living room and saw Face as he bent over a table that was laden with all kinds of breakfast foods, and Hannibal grinned as he realized that once again, the younger man was looking out for the Team's well-being. Hannibal's gaze drifted over to the corner of the room where Murdock, even though he had been declared sane, still watched the morning cartoons, and B.A. had his head bent over some book and some new electronic device he'd made.
Hannibal smiled in pride and realized that Angelique had indeed been right. The Team was a family and he did love them, and he intended, as Angelique had charged him, to tell them so.
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