I've been wracking my time lately trying to finish this piece.. properly. I love these two, omg. They deserve all the fic in le world~
It rained that night.
Will stood next to the sole window of his room, staring.
The dried acres of land that comfortably stranded him from the rest of society came alive from underneath the constant thrum of the storm.
Worms riddled themselves throughout the yellowed grass. Trees sopped almost sadly, branches breaking and swaying in several violent directions. Will wondered if they could feel it. The pain. If they could feel their limbs being torn and ripped from their old, wooden bodies again and again.
Could they bare it?
Did they hurt?
Thunder hit. Lightning flashed. Winston cried out.
Will looked down, a blank slate of a gaze bedded against his blue eyes as he knelt down and took Winston in his arms. Winston immediately dug his snout into the safety of Will's embrace, trembling.
"It's alright boy. I'm here."
When the thunder died down, so had Winston's unease.
He padded towards the kitchen and into the livingroom with the rest of the gang, tail wagging happily without a care in the world as if he were never once mortally terrified ten seconds prior. Will furrowed his brow and looked down towards the ground. His back hit the wall with his legs splayed out in front of him, and for just one moment, Will allowed himself to ponder the idea of being a dog, of being Winston.
He was quickly interrupted.
Thrown off guard, Will fought to re-adjust his glasses and got up, nearly tripping on himself. Twice. He made his way to the door, and froze when he reached it.
He took a breath. A shallow one and then a deep one. Swallowed, exhaled, muttered to the count of three, and reached for the knob, all in a nervous dance of anxiety.
Will wasn't so sure if he'd chosen the right tie. Or the correct pair of pants, shoes. Suit.. Underwear?
"Will," was the warm greeting. "Good evening."
Will tore his eyes from the ground and dared himself to look up for a brief, miraculous second of actual eye-contact. Hannibal bowed his head ever so slightly in response, always lethally armed with his chivalrous charm that often managed to get even the likes of Jack Crawford weak at the knees.
Will swallowed, tensing right up. "Evening."
Hannibal sure looked crisp in his scarlet suit and coral tie. Impeccably tailored, as always. Hair swept softly to the side, and reeking of some sort of terribly expensive cologne.
Will stepped aside, not quite knowing what else to do. He could practically taste that familiar little smile on Hannibal's lips that the doctor often exuded whenever he knew Will was experiencing an abrupt episode of internal torment.
Will appreciated that smile. It made him feel a little less.. insane, and a little more normal.
"Actually, Will," Hannibal began carefully, "Perhaps we could be on our way? We would risk the possibility of being late if I came in."
Will nodded after a few seconds, his eyes set solely and only on the wet granite of the porch.
"Okay.. I mean. Yeah, okay." He shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting from foot to foot. "I just.. Hold on. You know what? Let me grab my keys."
Will hadn't noticed when or if he had slammed the door right in Hannibal's face.
Either way, the doctor smiled to himself and settled with waiting patiently on the other side of it.
Will was well accustomed to the notion of sitting in Jack's passenger's seat more often than not.
Or anyone's passenger's seat, really.
What Will wasn't particularly accustomed to was being in the passenger's seat of Hannibal's car.
It was a foreign experience with similarly foreign surroundings. Everything in the interior was in order. No scratch nor mark, windows left virtually untouched. Seats, dash–
Will felt a little bad just being in it. It smelled nice. Like leather and something that you would only catch a whiff of if Hannibal happened to walk right past you at just enough distance.
Rain sleeted onto the dashboard in a series of perpetual currents. The wipers could hardly keep up. A blanket of bullet-proof silence settled itself inside the car. Will's thigh refused to stop shaking. Will's brain refused to stop thinking.
Was he wearing good enough stuff? Did he look ridiculous?
Did he dab on the right scent of cologne? The aftershave, was it worthy, or at least passable? Was it not worthy or at least passable? Or maybe–
"Anxiety often triggers coping mechanisms unique to both the individual and to the stress of the given situation," Hannibal said, breaking the silence. "The biting of the lip, grinding of the teeth, shaking of the leg.." They entered the freeway. Hannibal's hand swept across the wheel almost.. sensually. "Are you feeling anxious, Will?"
Will held his breath, and froze.
The doctor's question hung in the air for several seconds. A response, Will deduced, was expected.
"I.. I uh, I left some stuff unfinished. At home. Was supposed to call Jack before nine, you know, about work stuff– about a case, and I didn't, haven't, so now, fuck–" he stopped himself, taking a breather. Hannibal didn't seem to mind this. "Yes. I am anxious, Dr. Lecter. I am very anxious, actually."
The doctor's lip curled, but his gaze never left the road. He remained silent. He knew Will well enough to know that the detective wasn't quite finished. Contrary to common belief, Will loved to talk; loved to express himself, to be heard, and to be minded. Unfortunately, it was a willing audience that Will often lacked, and Hannibal was more than willing to snatch the role for only himself in order to milk it bone-dry.
Will Graham is a self-contained fire, after all: capable, but simultaneously incapable of all of its endless capabilities. Will Graham burns into himself almost beautifully. Hannibal gets to watch it all from both up close and afar.
Hannibal thinks of Will quite often. Every night.
Will doesn't know it yet.
Will doesn't know a lot of things.
"I hate it when it rains," Will says. "I don't like how the worms coil out of the earth like.. like nightmares. Slimy and ugly and gross and whatnot. I hate watching the trees break. Thunder's too loud. I hate loud. Winston does, too. I've never been to an opera before, by the way. This is my first time."
Will talks for the rest of the ride there. His thigh no longer shakes like before.
Hannibal listens, learns every word by heart.
The place was huge.
Will felt small and uncomfortable.
There were so many people. And it wasn't your average kind of people, either.
Women sauntered across the concert hall dressed in rich, elaborate gowns while men flocked from all around them dressed in just-as-pricey high-end suits.
Will took a look at his own clothes.
He wore a gray button-up long-sleeve and a black tie. Black slacks and a pair of rimmed glasses.
Will never felt this out of place in all his life, and that meant something coming from someone who failed to fit in at places like Wal-Mart even if he tried.
Hannibal, however, stood entirely in his element. He melded effortlessly into the crowd, greeted people as he led Will further and further into the innermost seats of the auditorium. Will had almost forgotten how much he positively loathed being around people so much. The gawking and the staring.. the stinging judgment so easily reflected in the human eye.
Will shifted his jaw, tightened it, and tried to breath steady.
He kept his head down, eyes towards the ground. It'd been less than a few minutes and Will was already dying to go home. They took their seats on the third-floor podium. Will looked around and felt relieved. A pair of women sat at the very end of their row, and two others from far across. He took a breath and relaxed into his seat.
Hannibal watched him quietly.
"I- I'm fine. Just. Haven't been out much. Like this. Sorry."
The doctor smiled and looked away. Will appreciated the fact that Hannibal hadn't pressed any further. Will appreciated a lot of things that Hannibal did, actually.
The lights began to dim a few moments later and the whole place fell into a muted silence. Will sunk into himself, feeling a lot more comfortable from within the reddened shadows of the large room. A woman stepped onto the stage and began to introduce herself. The walls of the place felt to have shaken from the sheer magnitude of her voice.
Will risked a peek from the corner of his eye. Hannibal seemed entirely entranced, a very calm expression etched softly all across his face. Will wondered if the doctor came to places like this often; wondered if Hannibal felt embarrassed for him with the way people had stared and questioned his company for the night. Will tried very hard to come up with a reason as to why Hannibal had even bothered to invite him here, anywhere, in the first place.
Despite his efforts, Will came up with nothing.
He was merely another one of the doctor's many patients. A job, maybe a chore.
Was it pity? Will hated pity.
His brow furrowed in thought, and in that precise moment, Hannibal's eyes fell towards Will's own.
Will never quite noticed just how strangely colored Hannibal's eyes were. Brown at first glance, but maroon at the second. They were sharp and terribly knowing. Will felt naked. He squirmed in his seat, a thin string of sweat forming at the rim of his brow.
Hannibal Lecter was a handsome man.
A very handsome and refined man graced with sharp cheekbones and timeless, olive skin.
The weight of the doctor's gaze was overwhelming. Will quickly looked away and stiffened into his seat. He could still feel the other's eyes set on him, however. There was an approaching warmth at his ear that came closer and closer. Will froze.
"Are you alright, Will?"
And just as quickly as it happened, the warmth at Will's ear went away.
The woman began to sing.
Will risked a few more glances throughout the hour.
The moments were awfully concise.
Hardly there, hardly real.
But Will swore on Alana Bloom that Hannibal's hand had brushed against his own.
Three different times.
Will had had both his hands planted on the arms of his seat, a habit that allowed him to feel a little more in control of his surroundings; a way to reassure himself that the ground beneath him wasn't indeed going to open right up and swallow him whole.
And if it did, well, at least he had some leverage he could hold on to.
The first incident was rather brief and understandable.
Hannibal's hand had fallen to the armrest of his seat, and in that process, his pinky finger had brushed against Will's.
The second incident was a little more dubious.
Will had switched to resting his head against his knuckles with his elbow balanced on the armrest.
Hannibal had caressed Will's wrist with the back of his hand. Two, whole, small sweeps of legitimate skin contact. At first, Will told himself that the doctor was probably just making sure that he was alright, reassuring him, maybe.
But it was on the third incident that Will was really forced to question his own sanity.
Will's hand had been on his thigh: very near and somewhat tucked into the general proximity of his crotch. It was a common guy way of sitting. Perfectly normal. Either way, Hannibal's hand had somehow landed on Will's knee. Maybe Will had a little something there, who knew. But then Hannibal's hand began to move up. Slowly and carefully at first, almost as if testing for Will's reaction.
Will stayed perfectly still, of course.
Two heartbeats later, Hannibal's hand had fallen to rest atop Will's own. That certainly began to send multiple shivers of electricity up and down Will's spine. His heart began to beat a little faster. Not even a full minute had passed until Hannibal's hand had begun to travel inward, landing rather blatantly and inexcusably at the very nape of Will's crotch.
Will had instantly lost the ability to breathe.
There was a light squeeze that tore the air straight out of Will's lungs.
Then there was another.
Will felt the blood begin to rush to his cock, felt himself getting hard, and fuck, he hadn't been touched there in such a long time, and, oh god–
And then there was nothing.
Having regained his breath and a small sense of tangibility several minutes later, Will had somehow evoked himself to take a small peek towards the doctor from the very corner of his eye.
Hannibal looked perfectly calm if not utterly engrossed by the concert below.
Like nothing at all that was inexplicably strange had just taken place.
Will feared for his own mental health.
It wouldn't be the first time he'd be hallucinating.. things.
And so, like so many times before, Will forced himself to forget.
The concert ended.
Hannibal sensed Will's stigma to the idea of mazing through the hordes of moving people, so they waited.
They were the last to leave.
As Will was to release a sigh of relief, a couple stopped them by the revolving doors.
"Oh, Hannibal," the woman cooed, "you look positively dashing tonight!"
Her eyes roamed Hannibal. Will didn't look her straight in the eye, of course, but it didn't take a genius to know that if he had, her eyes would have surely reflected the sexual attraction she so shamelessly failed to obscure in front of her own husband.
The doctor smiled warmly. "As do you, Annette."
Will felt himself flinch.
There was a silence – likely filled by a large smile on the woman's behalf – before:
"Ah, yes," Hannibal said. "Will Graham. Special FBI agent."
Hannibal stepped back, as if to fully demonstrate Will to those scornful, prying eyes. Will felt incredibly awkward. He flushed to the tips of his ears, all in an instant. Weary, he extended his hand.
"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," he said to the ground.
The woman gave him her hand, but didn't shake it. Hannibal coughed onto the back of his wrist, causing Will to realize his fault. He brought her hand to his lips and gave it a quick peck.
A strange silence followed.
"We should be on our way," Hannibal finally broke. "It was delightful seeing you both again."
The couple smiled, exchanged handshakes, and sauntered off. Will stood there, gazing at the ground.
"Sorry.. About that, I mean. I–"
"It's alright, Will. Might I offer you a drink to properly end the night?"
Will was tired, wanted to say no. Wanted to bring up the fact that he'd only slept two hours the day before and that he was positively exhausted, right on the verge of passing out. But when Will looked up, nervous and blear-eyed, he saw the good doctor's kind smile and decided that he couldn't ever muster up the courage to reject such a selfless offer by such a selfless man.
A very handsome and charming and selfless man.
If there was one thing Will Graham would never learn to do, it would be saying 'no' to Dr. Lecter.
"Okay," he nodded.
When they reached the car, Hannibal had rushed ahead to open the door for Will.
Will, for the first time in a long time, felt the telltale butterflies flutter straight into his stomach.
Hannibal's home was something out of a cinema.
Will never quite got over the sheer cleanliness of it.
Everything looked meticulously planned. Chronically dusted, perhaps, and perfectly matched.
Even the way that Hannibal hung his keys on the small little hanger by the door fascinated Will.
Actually, there were very few things that Hannibal did that didn't fascinate Will.
The man was born in the wrong era. He belonged someplace else. Like in another state or continent, maybe. Like England or Paris. Yeah, Paris would suit him just fine.
"Huh? Oh. Yeah. Uh. Wine is fine for now, I guess."
Will sat himself down on one of the kitchen chairs, careful not to be too destructive as he went about it. He looked around. The kitchen and dining room were in impeccable condition, as always; seemingly untouched. Will wondered just how much Hannibal adored his kitchen. He seemed very attached to it. Will could see it in the doctor's eyes whenever he was working his artistry in it or just hanging out: cooking, cleaning, or simply running his fingers against the metallic contours of the kitchen island.
How he handled every drawer and cabinet with such care.. such love. It was almost intimate.
Will forced himself to look away the moment he realized how hard he was staring. Unfortunately, Hannibal had already caught him.
"What's on your mind, Will?" the doctor asked, pouring the second glass.
"Just uh.. I guess what kind of heinous crime scenes Jack's gonna ask me to look at tomorrow morning. Something like that."
"You're a terrible liar, Will," Hannibal said, approaching the table. Will bit his tongue, inhaling. "What did you think of tonight?"
Will watched as Hannibal sat beside him. Strange, as the doctor usually sat at the very head of the table, or on the other side for the sake of more comfortable conversation.
Will thought back to the concert, of the doctor's warm hand on his thigh. Then he thought of how it had traveled upwards.. up up up, until–
"It was.." Will swallowed, "Different. Nice. It was good, the singing, I mean."
Hannibal smiled that ambiguously distant smile that Will had issues dealing with since day one.
Hannibal had very nice lips, after all. Full and measured. Unique, and awfully soft-looking. Will wondered if Hannibal had ever kissed anyone before.
"I agree. I enjoyed the experience."
Hannibal took a sip of his drink, watching Will quietly from beneath his lashes. Will didn't dare look. He kept his gaze on the red liquid in his glass, breathing steady.
"Did it bother you, Will?"
Will looked up towards the general direction of Hannibal's chin.
"Did what bother me, exactly?" he asked, mildly confused.
"When I touched you."
"Surely you felt my hand on your leg," Hannibal pressed, sipping once more into his wine. He sounded awfully nonchalant about the whole thing. Will had to clench his eyes shut a couple times to make sure he was hearing correctly. "Did you enjoy it?"
Will nearly choked on his own spit.
"I um, what, what do you mean?"
After a few moments, Hannibal put his glass down, something he very rarely did whenever he wasn't completely done with it. Will held his breath.
"Look at me, Will."
A few tresses of Hannibal's hair had fallen lazily onto the side of his face, and by the one god, did he not look amazing enough to steal the air fresh from Will's lungs.
So wherein the precise moment that Will felt the most powerless, Hannibal had lent towards him in the same manner he had earlier that day at the auditorium, close enough so that his breath came in chillingly hot waves against Will's ear.
"I think of you, Will," the doctor whispered, the exotic tang of his foreign accent now thicker and more beguiling than ever. "I think of you undone, bare, and underneath me. I think of your voice pitched high towards the ceiling as I slide into you; slowly, deeply, and to the hilt. Would you like that, Will?"
Will hissed in a helpless gulp of air. His thigh began to shake whilst his eyes closed on their own accord. He could practically hear the blood gush right down to his crotch to the rhythm of the doctor's heavy voice.
Unbeknownst to Will, Hannibal's hand had found its place into the root of his hair, pulling back.
"Do you think of me, Will?"
Will nodded almost too quickly, dazed and entirely high off of the situation. Hannibal's voice was a drug, the warmth of his breath, the smell of him. Will found himself breathing more eagerly than usual, found himself hardly being able to stand on his own two feet as Hannibal took him roughly by the hair, their bodies just barely touching. Will dared to open his eyes, the burn in his scalp becoming sharper. He hissed quietly in pain, inevitably growing harder in the process.
If only Hannibal would pull a little harder, perhaps throw him against the wall as he bit him where it hurt the most–
"Tell me," Hannibal said quietly, slowly, as he looked directly into Will's half-lidded eyes. "What do you think of at night when you are alone in bed, Will?" He lent, brushing the warm seam of his lips against the sharp edge of Will's jaw. "Where does your hand wander?"
Will felt his back hit the wall, felt Hannibal's nails dig into the skin of his scalp. He nearly whimpered, feeling as the doctor quickly entrapped him. Will could feel the full weight of his cock shamelessly press against his thigh, and was almost assured that Hannibal could feel it just as distinctly.
He swallowed, allowing Hannibal to linger at his neck. The doctor's hair smelled wonderfully, beautifully, just like the rest of him. Will felt his legs begin to give out once Hannibal had licked down slowly all along the tract of his neck, nipping.
"I think of you f-fucking.. fucking, me," Will managed, "I think of our meetings, the smell of you. The way your hand feels on my shoulder, on my cock, and, oh god–"
Hannibal's lips met with Will's, hushing him.
The kiss was hungry and awfully violent. Will tried his best to keep up, to attain some sort of control. He failed rather miserably. Hannibal slipped expertly into his mouth, devouring what he could without much patience as he traced every hidden seam of wetted skin that Will hadn't the strength to even attempt to keep from him.
The feeling was unlike anything Will had experienced before in this particular department. If Hannibal hadn't been holding him up with his weight the way he was, Will would have long collapsed into a puddle somewhere on the floor.
Hannibal pulled away with a muffled pop before he lent down to ravage Will's neck again, biting sharply all along the pulse of the jugular vein. Will felt vulnerable, helpless, and suddenly very, very hard.
Panting quietly despite himself, Will's doe-like eyes began to glaze over with the guilt of his lust, dulling greatly in their brilliant color. His brow knit upward, face carded red. His dick lied frantic in its painful confines, leaking now from in between his quivering legs. His mind reeled, his skin too hot.
That's when Hannibal really started digging into his neck, all teeth and tongue and no care at all given for any broken skin. It was animal-like, carnal, luxuria at its most primal. Will never dreamt that the good doctor would be this hellishly satyric.
The continuous realization of it all left Will drooling.
Will felt as his shirt began to be unbuttoned, and then his pants. There were hands at his chest, roaming his waist, and then to his thighs. Was he naked? A burst of cold air hit his legs, then he was kicking out of his socks and shoes without hardly remembering his own name. The air was all but knocked out of his lungs the moment Hannibal's hands had traveled back towards his ass, clenching hard and possessively.
Will couldn't retain the slight moan that escaped him.
It simply wouldn't have been human if he had.
"Don't stop please don't stop," Will plead, lending the doctor more open access of his neck despite the winning pain. "Fuck, I want you so bad."
Hannibal let out a sort of low, sensuous growl in response. Needless to say, it drove Will absolutely insane. It hurt. But it all hurt so good, and with Hannibal's deceivingly delicate hands groping at his ass like he owned every piece of it, the coil of orgasm began to helplessly twine.
Will bit his lip, his cheeks burning red as he felt the very tips of Hannibal's fingers give the occasional brush against his hole, teasing it. Will's cock jumped at the feeling, eager for more.
Hannibal, for his part, remained fully dressed and perfectly unsoiled by the situation if not for the obvious loosening of his hair as he eagerly led Will backwards and into the first sofa that crossed their path.
Will guessed they were in the livingroom area now.
Hannibal never stopped kissing him.
In fact, Hannibal had moved back up to Will's lips and took it upon himself to prolong the kiss for a longer while, audibly swallowing whenever the kiss seemed to have overwhelmed him the most.
Will felt as if he were in another world far beyond. He couldn't quite begin to fathom that this was all actually happening. Couldn't understand how this couldn't just be another one of his filthy, erotic fantasies involving his psychiatrist of which he often found himself dreaming of when the nightmares hadn't yet taken over.
This was Hannibal Lecter, after all.
A terribly refined man with utmost values and morals. He wouldn't hurt a fly. He'd probably never even watched porn in his life. And he certainly wouldn't ever wrap his hand around Will's cock and jerk him off into oblivion.. Right?
"My name," Hannibal said, squeezing a little harder along the thick length of Will's sodden cock. "Say it."
Hannibal's thumb grazed against the slit of Will's dick, causing the detective to whimper quite closely to that of a schoolgirl. Hannibal, however, didn't mind this. He pumped harder, using his other free hand to slide Will's boxers right off his ankles.
And when exactly had Hannibal climbed on top of Will, by the way?
"Ha–Hann.. oh fuck.. Please–"
"Fuck.. Fuck me–"
And just as quickly as it happened, it stopped.
Hannibal had tore Will to his feet by the hair, and had sat back down.
Will stood there, naked and looking slightly unhinged.
Hannibal looked him up and down several times, his tongue quietly marking his lips.
Will looked good enough to eat.
"Get on your knees, Will," the doctor said calmly.
Hannibal still wore his sanguine suit, perfectly pressed and just as perfectly matched with the impeccable twine of his coral tie. Hannibal looked perfect, polished and refined. He look untouched; untouchable.
Will wondered several times if he had completely lost his mind.
And if he had gone entirely nuts, well, insanity sure had its perks if this is how it was to be.
So, Will damn sure got on his knees, on the floor of Hannibal's beautiful livingroom, and took the doctor's cock from out of its confines faster than you could say.. well, anything, really.
He stared at it a moment, shocked and slightly amazed by how.. pretty, it looked.
Lightly tinted, pink tip, olive shaft. Thick. Long.
And no, Will had never had another man's junk this close to his face before. And no, Will had never touched another dick aside from his own.
But Hannibal, of course, was another story entirely in itself.
Will hadn't noticed the moment he'd licked his lips.
He brought his lips to the tip, and licked, tasted, before taking what he could into his mouth. Hannibal didn't say or do anything, didn't react. Will clenched his eyes shut, gagged, choked, and attempted to pull away.
Hannibal kept him painfully in place by the root of the hair.
"I told you to suck, Will. You will do as I say."
Will nodded. Will obeyed.
Hannibal reclined his head, brought his arms to the brace of his VIG Chesterfield sofa, and quietly watched Will from 'neath the veil of his lashes. He smiled, amusement bedded into the dangerous sharpness of his eyes.
It felt nice.
It always felt nice, knowing nothing and no one could ever not submit to you; not even someone as fiery and as brilliant like Will Graham.
Hannibal basked in the knowledge, taking much pleasure in the way Will's thin, articulate lips lied worked and sealed from around the breadth of his cock working hard, oh so hard, to please him.
Nothing, nothing, could ever even come close.
"You look better this way, Will," Hannibal smiled, twirling his fingers into the brown curls of Will's hair. "Perhaps you should consider it more often."
Hannibal pushed Will in, slowly, until the tip of Will's nose had met with the clothed planar of his pelvis.
Will froze still as a stone, willing his gag reflex at bay. His own cock trembled in need. He wouldn't last much longer like this, on his knees, with the doctor's prick so perfectly cradled into his throat like it belonged there.
"Look at me."
And so Will did, shy, and with his eyes wet at the rims. Hannibal's delight only increased with the sight of Will secretly reaching down between his thighs, surely taking himself in hand.
Hannibal shivered in arousal for the very first time that day.
"Yes. Like that. Don't stop, Will."
Without prior warning, Hannibal eventually began to force Will's head into a quick and steady rhythm; the entirety of his cock sliding softly and audibly against the slick walls of Will's throat.
Hannibal never allowed Will to look away from him regardless of Will's lifelong major insecurities with eye-contact. Instead, Hannibal stared Will straight into his tearful eyes, quietly watching as he broke and dominated the only man who had ever managed to seduce him to such vicious and intimate levels.
Will was a drug.
A powerful and beautiful morphine with soft curls and empathic blue eyes.
And like a drug, Will was nothing short to addictive and oh so hellishly lethal.
Will was brought to his feet before having been violently slammed against the opposite wall, naked and on the verge of coming.
Hannibal had loosened his belt and taken himself in hand, sealing Will's panting lips in a long, passionate kiss that burned in all the right ways.
Will swore he would die.
"I'm going to fuck you now, Will," the doctor said, stated, kicking Will's thighs wide open with his knee. "Then I'm going to come inside you."
Will quivered in all of his need as Hannibal reached down below, beneath Will's painfully erected cock and under his balls, caressing the sealed hole that lied safely hidden from 'neath the mounds of his ass. He moaned, moaned like a whore, but Will hardly found himself being able to care at that point.
"Have you done this before, Will?"
Will shook his head twice, melting into the wall.
Hannibal watched him silently as he began to push into Will with two of his fingers, breaching him inch by inch with nothing but the slight aid of pre-cum that had streamed down from Will's weeping prick. Will released a breath he hadn't known he'd been keeping in. Hesitant at first, he brought his arms to wrap around Hannibal's neck, holding on for dear life.
Hannibal allowed this.
Long, graceful fingers to match the genteel virility that the doctor was always known for, that Will secretly admired the most; fingers that scissored and twisted from far within him, stretching mercilessly, skilled and experienced. Will bit his lip hard to hold back all of the shameless mewls that caked the inside of his throat, cutting it. A thin string of blood fell to etch slowly against the prominent sinew of his jaw, painting it red.
Hannibal watched it all in a wicked fascination. Leant in, and licked. All of it.
It was a dream.
Must have been, and Will wondered how he would be able to live on without this to accompany every remaining day of his life. With Hannibal's fingers fucking into him, filling him, the flare of passion in the doctor's normally cold and analyzing eyes.
Eventually, Hannibal's brutal ministrations ceased. He reached for Will's leg in order to hook it against his shoulder, placing himself flush against the parted cleft of Will's ass that promised so much friction.
Palpably trembling now in the sheer weight of his own arousal, Hannibal brushed his lips against Will's own, whispering a sibilant string of foreign nothings into his ear; nothings of which Will was of course unable to understand.
His eyes had long dwindled, arms weak and dangling at his sides. Hannibal could have him willingly all night long, fuck him till it hurt to breathe, plunder every inch of his body; taint him, maim him. Will wanted it all. He'd dreamt it for so long.
Hannibal began to push in, fucking Will open with the heavy girth of his cock.
Hannibal was unlike anything Will could have ever hoped to expect.
He realizes this far too late, however, as he is slowly stretched far beyond the preparation of just two fingers, as the stretch continues until he is crying out, half groaning and half keening. Part of him wants to struggle away from the pressure, but the other foams at the mouth for more.
So desperate for the sweet promise of release, desperate for Hannibal, and Hannibal alone.
So Will takes it.
And he takes it.
And when he is utterly full and trembling all over his skin, and is so bitterly stretched that even the angle of his own straining cock is affected, he allowed himself the space of a breath to realize that he was being fucked by the one person he so trusted and just as equally admired.
That the cock throbbing and sliding in and out of his gut is Hannibal Lecter's: a renowned and celebrated man amongst his peers, both clever and intelligent in all of their meaning. The one person who hadn't looked at Will as a tool to be used or as a raving lunatic, but instead as a friend.
As a person. As a human fucking being.
A man who invited him to exquisite home-made dinners and exclusive high-end events of which Will had no place in being a part of just to, perhaps, get his mind off of the cruelties of his work or of his 'gift'; a man who actually listened to him, who cared.
Hannibal. A good person. A good fucking person.
And Will admired him.
Loved what he was.
Yes, loved him.
Be that love intimate, fraternal, or simply another of his distant made-up absurdities, Will knew there was a safe feeling in his chest that he couldn't quite deny whenever he found himself anywhere near the doctor.
And if that wasn't considered some sort of love, then Will would know none.
And in that love, Will would give everything.
He would trust. Truly trust.
Practically sobbing in pleasure, and with the color in his eyes fogged over, Will brought his hands to clench hard onto the fine fabric of Hannibal's suit. He lent forward experimentally, savoring now the burn and every second of his defilement. Hannibal never stopped fucking him senseless.
Will couldn't do much but rock into the breadth of Hannibal's cock, the final height of his climax beginning to sore white-hot from within his pelvis.
But then Hannibal shudders and tenses all over and Will is certain that he will feel the flood of Hannibal's seed soil him at any moment.
Before Will could have the opportunity to catch his breath and possibly convulse and die in the torrid twine of his own belated orgasm, however, Hannibal had purposefully hit a spot somewhere inside him with the very tip of his cock that left Will's mouth shooting wide open in shock.
Five different times.
Will's load shot almost instantly, soiling both his chest and Hannibal's tie. The muscles in his rectum tightened, and with the amount of pressure they emitted onto the sensitive pole of Hannibal's cock, the doctor came soon after as well with a low accented breath that came out sounding a lot like,
They remained in that way for a long while, senses setting and with their bodies still connected.
They could only stare at one another, fighting for breath with a mutual worship in both their eyes that never waned.
They kissed into the silence, saying nothing.
No need for words.
The feeling, whatever it was, whatever it might have possibly been, was undoubtedly,