Disclaimer: The A-Team and its glory do not belong to me and do not net me any profits.

Notes: Written for a kinkmeme prompt asking for Hannibal/Face pure fluff. This was the purest fluff these men would allow.


Before all Hell had broken loose - before their lives as they knew them had ended - there had been a promise.

When this tour's over, we'll spend some quality time together on some exotic island, just you and me and the boundless surf.

Well, the exact wording may not have been so romantic, and of course they'd never go anywhere without B.A. and Murdock, but that had been the essence. Either way, it had become a promise they wouldn't be able to keep for the foreseeable future.

Damn it! Face swore mentally. Hannibal deserves that romantic getaway... and then some. He didn't show it, but the colonel - no, former colonel - was under massive strain. Imprisonment, loss of livelihood, betrayal, being on the run... They were each struggling to deal with those stressors in their own way, but Hannibal had it the worst. Murdock, B.A., and Face had been at home in the Army because of Hannibal, but for the bossman, the Army just was home. The rest of the team had been duped by a respected CO, but Hannibal had been betrayed by a lifetime friend.

Goddamn son of a bitch, Face cursed the dead general before turning his thoughts back to a more worthy subject. Anyone but Hannibal would be climbing a clocktower with a gun. And that might still be a valid option for the former colonel if he didn't get some quality time.

With this in mind, Face had made a decision and then some slick arrangements, and now here they were in a time share beach house (they didn't technically have a share in it, but Face had made it their time in the house). So what if Redondo Beach wasn't exactly an exotic island? The former lieutenant knew how to make anyplace a tropical paradise.

"Face," Hannibal said, the clipped tone making his voice sound rougher than usual, "again, why am I blindfolded?"

"If it's some kind of trust building activity," Murdock chimed in from the sofa as he dial-flipped rapidly through the digital cable, "can I try it with B.A.?"

"Not a chance, man," the big man replied as he snatched the remote out of the pilot's hands and punched in the numbers for Cartoon Network.

"Murdock wouldn't steer you very wro- Boss! Get those hands down." Face's attention was pulled away from the odd couple and back to Hannibal. "You'll spoil the surprise."

"And that's a bad thing?" The older man asked. "I figure it gives me time to plan my escape."

"This is your escape. Now come with me out to the terrace." Face opened the sliding glass door and, exchanging winks with his other teammates, led their leader outside. He drew the curtain inside before closing the door and sitting Hannibal down on a deck chair. With one hand splayed across the taut muscles of Hannibal's chest and another lovingly cupping the back of his head, Face eased the older man back into a reclining position. "Keep your eyes closed." He slid his hand to the knot of the blindfold, undid it, and slowly pulled it away, caressing Hannibal's cheek in the same motion. "Now, what do you hear?"

"A silly question in a sillier game."

"Indulge me," he whispered into an ear.

"If I indulged you any more... Alright, alright," Hannibal conceded when Face blew softly into his ear, making him shiver slightly. "I hear a seagull... and the Pacific."

"And what do you smell?"

There was a brief sigh before the answer. "Surf, sand, and... hibiscus?"

"Mm-hm. And what do you feel?"

"Mild impatience. Ow!" Face nipped his earlobe a bit harder than could be called a love bite. "Warm sunlight and an ocean breeze."

"Now open your eyes. What do you see?"

Hannibal's eyes fluttered open. He blinked a few times to adjust to the light. "Palm trees." He moved his eyes around the scene Face had set. "Flowers and oriental lanterns." His eyes went to Face, returning the younger man's wide smile. "Trouble."

"That a request, boss?" Hannibal gave into the urge and pulled Face down to him to wipe that smirk off. With his own mouth.

The kiss started hard, with a clash of teeth, but when their tongues tired of their wrestle for dominance, it eased into something languid and warm. With a last slow, smooth caress of his tongue, Face drew back and whispered, "Just you and me and the boundless surf."

"Or something like that," Hannibal responded, licking his lover's saliva off his lips. "As I recall, you wanted to add some tropical cocktails."

"Got us covered there." The former lieutenant straightened and moved to a glass and metal patio bar that stood against the wall. He poured ice, passion fruit nectar, four kinds of rum, and a splash of grenadine into a large cocktail shaker. He turned to smile sexily at his companion as he gave the mixture a vigorous shake. He went to the little table beside the deck chair and poured the drink into the waiting glasses. "To exotic escapes," he said, raising his glass. They drank together, savoring the contrast between the cool liquid and the warmth of alcohol moving through their bodies. "How does it taste?"

"Pleasantly sweet and fruity. With an aftertaste of 'kick my ass.'"

"That'd be the 151."

"You trying to get me drunk, kid?"

"Just trying to help you relax," Face answered honestly, his lips curving in a smile with no traces of teasing or irony. He felt a warm buzz that had nothing to do with alcohol when Hannibal returned the smile. "Now close your eyes again."

The older man took another sip of his drink and complied without protest. Face reached under the table and pulled out a small bottle of oil. He opened it and poured a generous amount into his palm before closing it again and working the oil across his palms. As he started massaging it into Hannibal's left bicep, it gave off a light aroma of tropical fruit, with a hint of cinnamon and cloves.

"Mm, that's nice, kid," Hannibal almost purred, the normally rough edge of his voice mellowed.

Least I can do... Face thought as his fingers skillfully kneaded the tense muscles of his lover's arm, stroking until tension eased to pliability. How many times have these arms saved me? Too many times to count. How many times have they held me through my own storms? More times than he could ever repay.

Still, he could try. Once he'd worked down the length of Hannibal's left arm to his hand, then his fingertips, he moved on to the right.

"That's lovely, Face. Keep singing."

Only at those words did the conman realize he was singing softly: You Are My Sunshine. He kept it up as he worked down the right arm. When he got to the fingertips, Hannibal's hand shifted in his hold, twining their fingers together. Face looked up to his lover's open eyes. They were filled with more warmth than the California sun above them. He swallowed, suddenly feeling quite hot.

"Thank you," was all Hannibal said, but his low, honeyed tone and crinkled eyes communicated more, telling how he understood what Face was doing here and how much he really appreciated it.

"It's the least I can do, boss," Face repeated, feeling oddly shy. More so when Hannibal raised their joined hands to his mouth.

"Care to do more, then?"

"What did you have in mind?"

Hannibal's smile and voice found their edge again: a very pleasant edge of passion. "I say we put that oil to better use."

The heat in Face's body concentrated deep and low in his abdomen. With a warm chuckle, he snatched up the bottle and joined his lover on the deck chair.

"Anything you want," he breathed in Hannibal's ear as he lay over him. "Especially that."

-
Cocktail recipe shamelessly stolen from Claim Jumpers restaurant. It's called Tropical Storm.