Chapter Text
“I swear, it works perfectly for every name, every time!”
“I’m not so sure.” Hannibal took a long, indulgent drag on his cigar, letting the comforting tobacco fill his lungs while being careful to keep the burning end safely away from where Face was snuggled on his chest. “Every name? Prove it.”
“Peck. Templeton Peck.” It was said with a near-perfect British accent, overflowing with confidence, and Hannibal had to admit it did sound pretty damn impressive. But then, Face was pretty damn impressive.
“All right,” Hannibal whispered with a smile. “I’ll give you that one.” Craning his neck, he leaned down and pressed a firm kiss into Face’s rumpled curls, and Face made a happy little noise before somehow crawling even closer, long arms locked around Hannibal’s waist where they lay together on the sofa.
And Face, perhaps predictably, wasn’t done yet. “Murdock, Henry Murdock. Or, you’ll like this one, Baracus, Bosco Baracus.”
Hannibal could see where this was going, and he wasn’t yet convinced. “Yes, well – ”
“And of course, Smith. John Smith. That’s the best one. See? James Bond knew what he was doing. The perfect introduction, every single time.”
Stroking his free hand up and down Face’s long spine, Hannibal chose to take another puff on his cigar rather than answer, though he should have known that wouldn’t slip past his wily lover for long.
“John?” Sure enough, Face shifted slightly and lifted his head enough to rest his chin on Hannibal’s collarbone, close enough to kiss, his blue eyes suddenly showing concern. “Isn’t it perfect?”
“Works for nearly every name, I’ll give you that much,” Hannibal said eventually, trying to avoid those questioning eyes. “Smith, Hannibal Smith – now that has an impressive ring to it.”
Face freed one hand from where he’d slid it far beneath Hannibal’s back, plucking the cigar from Hannibal’s fingertips and somehow resting it in the ashtray on the coffee table without even blinking.
“I prefer John,” he said softly, and Hannibal felt his cheeks heat unexpectedly at his lover’s serious tone. “I met Hannibal, but I fell in love with John.”
There was something in Face’s openness and honesty that made Hannibal feel he could speak with equal honesty.
“There’s a thousand John Smiths in the world, sweetheart.” Hannibal buried his suddenly-empty hand into those curls he loved so much, cradling the weight of his lover’s head as Face leaned into the touch. “A million, maybe. Two million. Or three.”
Before he could go on, Face suddenly tipped forwards just enough to claim Hannibal’s lips in a burning, passionate kiss that ended all his protests. When they finally broke apart, Hannibal panting a little for breath, Face smiled up at him and told him firmly, “There’s only one of you, John Smith, and you are all mine.”
Hannibal actually felt his heat skip a beat at that, and he smiled back as he gave in to the urge to flip Face over until his lover was pinned beneath him on the sofa. “You are all mine, too, Templeton Peck, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Say it for me, then?” Face blinked up at Hannibal, almost innocently, his blue eyes shining brightly now, twinkling with glee as he begged, “Go on, please?”
And Hannibal pressed his weight down a little harder, relishing the groan of happiness he earned from his lover, before finally giving in and obediently growling, “Smith. John Smith.”