Disclaimer: The A-Team belongs to other people, who happily make money off it. I, on the other hand, do not get any money for this...

Notes/Warnings: This story will deal with past child abuse/molestation and trauma resulting from it. Though this is being written for a kinkmeme prompt, the sensitive subject matter will be handled with care (not written as a kink).


Face sat on the edge of the bed, unmoving except for the small, slow back and forth slide of his palms on the edge of the mattress. Relax he told himself, feeling the tension in his biceps, as if his body sensed danger and was ready to spring up to fight or flee at the least provocation. It's just sex, he chided himself, ashamed of his own nervousness. He tamped down on the excuses the shivering corners of his mind tried to make, pushing away the whiny but Hannibal's a man and the sappy waited so long and especially the trite nothing will ever be the same.

"Don't be such a fucking woman, Peck," he whispered, mentally apologizing to Charissa Sosa in the same breath. Butterflies in the stomach were no more her style than his... but that didn't make the ones fluttering frantically in his gut go away. Jesus! Is this what every virgin I deflowered felt like? Or was that worse? They'd had a fly-by-night playboy popping their cherry, while Face was sitting here waiting for a man he trusted more than himself.

"I keep you waiting, kid?" Hannibal's voice startled him out of his anxious thoughts and he almost jumped to his feet. "And here I was thinking you'd start... without..." The former colonel's voice trailed off as he met Face's wide blue eyes. "Kid?"

Face forced his lips into a smile. "Just a little nervous, boss," he admitted, smile gradually softening into something natural as the warmth in Hannibal's eyes wrapped around him. "Today's the big driving test and it's my first time driving stick."

The older man's mouth curved in response to that, expression suspiciously resembling a leer. "Well you can relax. I'm real good with the clutch."

The butterflies didn't leave, but their fluttering slowed and became significantly hotter, moving deeper into Face's abdomen as he took in that smirk, the toned, scarred body covered only in glistening moisture and a towel, and all the love and lust projecting from his lover's eyes. "I'll bet you are," he replied belatedly, absently.

"Now, what are you doing just sitting there?"

"Hm?"

"I'm gonna lay three ground rules for our shared bed, Temp. Rule 1: You're here because you want to be here."

"No problems there, sir." He wet his lower lip as he smiled again: a slow, lascivious grin. He enjoyed the way Hannibal's eyes locked on the movement. "And rule 2?" he prompted, when the silence stretched a bit long.

"Rule 2," Hannibal continued finally, reaching down to haul Face to his feet. "We do this together, or not at all." He drew the former lieutenant closer to him, the heat of his body radiating to Face, warming away tension without and stoking the fires within.

"Mm, yes, sir!"

"Rule 3! There is no commanding officer in our bed." Hannibal cupped Face's cheek, voice and gaze serious.

"Well then," Face responded when he was able, eyes still locked on the other man's. He turned his head slightly and languidly stroked the palm against his cheek with his tongue. "Why do you get to make all the rules?"

"You got something you want to add?" Hannibal's gruff voice became huskier still.

"Rule 4: We don't waste time."

With that, Face grabbed Hannibal's shoulders and pulled him down with him to the bed. Battle trained reflexes turned their collapse into a controlled dive. They landed with Hannibal on his hands and knees on the bed with Face on his back under him, one leg locked behind Hannibal's knee and lips firmly pressed together.

"I can live with that, kid," the older man responded when he was released long enough for air.

"Rule 5: no 'kid' in bed." Face pulled off the towel that had clung to Hannibal's hips with military precision.

"Ri-ight..." There was a hitch in his answer as Face arched up against him, brushing their groins together. "Whatever you say, ki- Temp," he corrected himself as he went to work removing the clothing his lover was still inexplicably wearing. Face shifted his arms over his head and raised his shoulders to help with the process. When the shirt was gone, Hannibal's hands went to caress the revealed flesh, rough fingers gliding in the fine sheen of sweat as they traced muscles.

"Mmm, Hannibal," Face allowed himself a small moan as the other man's thumb drifted across a nipple. He moaned again, louder, higher, as the action was repeated with more pressure.

There was an answering groan above him. "No one else - not any more." The deep, raspy voice was almost a growl. Face met eyes narrowed around the conflicting fires of jealousy and love. "Please. No one else, Temp."

"I-" Face began, but a cold buzzing around the edges of his consciousness stopped him. "I..." That "please" deserved an answer. "No one else," he whispered softly, but he barely heard his own words.

"No one else sees you, Templeton. But I do. I do." The voice echoed distantly in his mind, emanating from the icy static that was slowly spreading from the edges. It spread to his body, cooling his arousal and giving edges to the butterflies' wings.

"God, you're so beautiful..." It was Hannibal's voice that seemed distant now - his touch barely registering through growing numbness.

"So beautiful, sweet little T. So, so beautiful..." The voice sounded closer this time, sliminess oozing from its singsong tones, soiling Face's mind. He felt out of breath and his vision began to cloud. His mouth filled with an unfamiliar, but somehow remembered foul taste: salt and sour, with the acrid tang of bile.

"Hannibal, I-" No, a small, weak voice said in his brain. "Stop," he breathed. Stop, stop, stop, stop, the pathetic little voice pleaded. "Stop!" he cried, pushing Hannibal off him as he darted off the bed and stumbled into the bathroom. He grayed out as unknown memories assaulted him and his blood rushed to his gut. He managed to collapse over the open bowl of the toilet just as his stomach heaved.

"Kid!" Even over his retching, Face could hear the surprise and concern filling Hannibal's voice as he joined him in the bathroom. A large, warm hand moved to stroke his back and Face jerked away, reflexively. "Temp?" There was a mix of emotions that should never be in John "Hannibal" Smith's voice: worry, hurt, doubt, and a hint of fear. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know," Face responded honestly. "Oh God, I don't know!"

That frightened him more than anything.


Apologies for any OOC-ness. I'm still getting used to the characters.