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Chapter Text

One time

Hannibal Lecter is not exactly surprised when Will Graham asks him to resume his therapy. To say that this outcome was not one of the many possibilities he’s so carefully mapped out in his mind would quite candidly be a lie, and Hannibal does so loathe the idea of lying to himself.

He can admit to being pleased, however, as it is certainly not the possibility he had estimated to be most likely, and Will Graham does clean up nicely. There’s something refreshing about the sight of him, hair quaffed and dressed in finer clothes. Has his people-suit finally been shed, or is it just now, for Hannibal’s consideration, coming into play?

So he gets a haircut and a wardrobe renewal and he doesn’t change that wretched ship-on-the-bottle-that-he-keeps-getting-for-Christmas aftershave and Hannibal supposes he should be insulted by what passes as the FBI’s idea of a honeytrap. What, he wonders, exactly gives them the idea that Hannibal can be so easily swayed by a little makeover? Men and women and gender-defying people have primped for him before, and albeit their motives had been perhaps slightly different – Jack Crawford is trying to get him for a series of murders, not a series of glorious nights – they are equally as transparent.

He's even wearing contacts these days. Hannibal feels like he’s in a 90’s romcom. He’s curious as to why exactly he enjoys it.

Hannibal is not one to second-guess himself, and he’s not about to start now. Surely, this bad excuse for an FBI operation and its transparency both serve its purpose. The transparency may well be the purpose – Hannibal likes keeping his options open.

Will, for his part, continues to be utterly pleasing to observe. Hannibal enjoys his unpredictability and his dedication to the – what Hannibal is not sure Will doesn’t realise isn’t a – charade, the unwavering poise with which he designs Randall Tier’s body.

However, Will is but a human, and thus he comes with his own share of less-than-pleasurable attributes as well. Hannibal finds that even on his best-dressed days Will will unknowingly bring dog hair into the office, and although he appears to the outside world to have a much better grasp of his own empathy, there are hard lines of stress in his shoulders and neck, visible in the way he has to force to relax his hands when in Hannibal’s presence.

He doesn’t talk to Hannibal about how he’s been sleeping, but then he doesn’t have to. There is very little that Hannibal cannot read from his face. Hannibal finds it intriguing, because the indications to his suffering are truly just the littlest things, almost imperceptible , so he cannot help but wonder if it may in fact be something Will is actively trying to hide from him. Perhaps the issues he has with sleeping have become a rather sore subject, after the way Hannibal had used that knowledge the last time the man had been in his proverbial therapeutic hands.

It makes Hannibal curious as to see how far Will is willing to continue the honeytrap in order to get a good night’s sleep.

***

‘I would like to try a different kind of exercise with you today, dear Will,’ Hannibal announces at their next session.

If Will is surprised, his face does not show it. Hannibal carefully studies his features as he continues to explain the roots of somatic experiencing, and the purpose of today’s technique. He doesn’t miss the brunet’s smirk as he mentions that this particular approach is often referred to as “the puppeteer”, nor does it escape him that the man’s shoulders tense as he goes over the instructions and explains what they will be doing.

As Hannibal expected from their run-in with the social worker Clark Ingram, this bolder version of Will shares one very distinct similarity to his frayed-edges-people-suit: intimate touch is not and has never been the man’s forte.

And not only does The Puppeteer involve touching, it also requires a lot of trust and an ability to relinquish control. Maybe it would be more fair to say that it’s an exercise that perfectly plays into some of Will’s biggest weaknesses.

Hannibal has of course seen this kind of touch-averse behaviour in his clinical practice before. People learn from an early age that eye contact is one of society’s greatest expectations, and they learn to conform to put those around them at ease. Some will even overcompensate, resulting in a little too much eye contact, but even this behaviour is often more easily condoned than no eye contact at all.

It’s different for people who are touch-averse, however. Hannibal has found that although they may unconsciously train themselves to indulge touches from a select few people within their social circle – often their close chosen family and friends – their tolerance can only stretch so far without breaking. If and when their window of tolerance is forced to expand to borderline uncomfortableness, their body-language often makes their view on the matter abundantly clear.

To Will’s credit, beyond the tightening in the line of his back, little else tells of his anticipation of being touched by his psychiatrist.

Hannibal finds himself once more, undeniably pleased. Even in Will’s predictability there is a sharp edge of the unknown.

All in all, it takes a lot less sessions than Hannibal had anticipated, and more than he had expected Will would allow. The brunet’s impatience is another similarity Hannibal’s quickly located and treasured, although it takes the shape of a more optional thing, rather than a certainty, in this gussied up Will Graham.

Hannibal carefully catalogues his progress after each session, and they begin and finish with conversation and grounding exercises to lull Will into a sense of safety. Some sessions Will cries – a vulnerability Hannibal has not been privy to before, and that alone he considers a victory for his methods – but even when he does, he demands to push through the exercise. Will doesn’t lie about its effects either, which Hannibal appreciates, and talks openly about finding it easier to be aware of his tense posture before bed. If that’s all they get from this exercise, Hannibal supposes it will have to do.

Perhaps it is exactly because of this low expectation, and the certainty with which Hannibal conveys this to Will, but they are about halfway through their latest appointment when Will is finally able to relax his muscles properly.

Hannibal is holding onto Will’s right hand with his own, using his thumb to stroke soothingly across his palm, his other hand clasped securely on Will’s right elbow. Will’s eyes are closed, as he’s been recommended to do, and he’s taking deep breaths, his exhales long and gentle, their figures so close Will’s breath ruffles Hannibal’s hair.

Hannibal is talking – he’s found that Will’s frame descends into a neutral state more easily when he is vocally guided there – voice low and assuasive, when he is all of a sudden aware of the full weight of Will’s arm in his hands, the change so abrupt that the hand that is holding onto Will’s elbow almost drops in amazement.

He is a professional, however, and carefully keeps the weight of Will’s right arm and shoulder in his two hands. When he verbally praises the brunet, he takes note of the softening of the man’s face and the delicate gasp that leaves his wettened lips. If at all possible, his arm relaxes even further.

Hannibal guides the arm carefully away from Will’s body, instead bringing it closer to his own so he can outstretch it and test whether Will is still holding tension in his upper arm. He finds the limb malleable, like warm worked clay and guides it this way and that while carrying its weight, holding his hand firm and his elbow steady. Will’s skin is warm where he’s rolled up his sleeves, and it comes up in goosebumps at the touch, an involuntary reaction of his body when Hannibal’s thumb strokes across his wrist.

Hannibal cherishes the fragility of the moment. Will’s breath is evened out and delicate, almost as if he were sleeping, and his features are lax and unguarded now – the whole right side of his body at Hannibal’s mercy. There’s tears pooling in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill, but Will doesn’t appear alarmed by them, or even aware of them, at all. 

There’s the smell of that awful cologne and something distinctly Will, and perhaps Hannibal’s a little heady with it, too, because he finds himself wondering about what their future may look like if only Will would be as honest outside of this somatic exercise as he is during.

When Hannibal moves to carefully slide his hand from Will’s elbow, up to his shoulder, the muscles all-at-once twitch beneath his fingers, and rigidity returns to Will’s delicate frame.

‘Hannibal,’ Will sighs his name as if it were the last prayer from a broken man’s lips, a mix of emotions playing across his face, and his tears rolling down his cheeks in thick drops at last.

‘You did very well, my dear Will,’ Hannibal soothes the brunet as he returns to himself, eyelashes fluttering and wet. ‘Take your time.’

Hannibal gently sets Will’s hand back down on the armrest, hesitating when Will’s fingers twitch almost imperceptibly. He decides to indulge the motion, and offers up his own digits for Will to grasp, pleased when the man takes the offering. Will squeezes, perhaps a little harder than he intends to, and when his eyes open fully they meet Hannibal’s and they’ve gone a little glossy and blank, a far-away look, the last tears sliding down.

Will’s reaction isn’t altogether uncommon. Hannibal has found that many people experience an almost trancelike state when they focus on their body and relaxing it – and, of course, manage the feat. He has also learned throughout his practice that quite a few of his clients find it unbearably intimate to give themselves over to another so completely – the idea of another carrying any burden for them, the idea of relinquishing control and allowing another to lead, aptly terrifying – and need time to come back from that reality.

The transition needs to be as gentle as it was building up to the relinquishment of their autonomy. Reactions range from tears to full-blown panic attacks, and having been a first-hand witness to Will’s panic attacks, Hannibal is all-in-all pleased they’ve managed to avert that outcome.

Even as Will’s breathing once more evens out and his eyes flit across the room – Hannibal can almost hear the grounding exercise Will uses, staring at the library and spelling b-o-o-k-s in his mind – his hand remains firm around Hannibal’s. He sniffles a little uselessly, and takes the proffered tissue but doesn’t bother using it.

Eventually, he exhales deeply for the last time, a renewed comfort to his pose.

‘Hannibal,’ Will gently speaks, his eyes a lot clearer when they meet Hannibal’s this time, ‘I—’

Hannibal watches as he struggles to find the words. They’re close, but Will brings them closer, closing his eyes as he rests his forehead against Hannibal’s and sighs, an aching, lonely thing.

For people like Will, who are continuously trapped in a state of fight or flight – whose nervous system has been fried, it’s so unregulated – truly relinquishing control can feel so entirely alien that they are absolutely daunted by it. Hannibal reminds himself of this, of the fact that nerves have been eating at Will’s tender frame day by day for years now, and that the minute breath of respite Hannibal has afforded him may cause Will to experience a myriad of emotions, all equally unpredictable and possibly entirely new to the man.

Hannibal can never lie about his own emotions; they are more akin to different shaped blocks in a toy-box, and although he can pick and choose which one to play with – the orange circle one or the purple rectangle one – it doesn’t make the experience any less truthful for himself. Love is not an emotion, but trust is.

In the moment, he chooses to trust that the emotion Will is acting upon is a familiar one to him, and not one brought on solely by the intimacy of the exercise. When Will’s lips part in a sigh, Hannibal closes the gap between them.

It’s perhaps a little more possessive than he had intended – Hannibal certainly wants to err on the side of caution, lest their oh-so-delicate balance is broken by barring too much of himself, too fast – but in this way he is, after all, merely mortal, and he wishes so badly to be seen by Will. He is swift in his conquest of Will’s mouth, resists the urge to bite the man’s lips raw and finds him just as malleable as he had been, earlier.

Every ounce of restraint he uses is forgone by Will entirely.

Who knew Will Graham kisses like the feral beast that lurks inside, hungry and raging with it? Is this what kissing Will Graham always feels like? On the verge of consumption, even as he relinquishes control and allows himself to be won, sharp teeth and a sneaky tongue? Is this the dark howling thing he’s been hiding, a monster so hungry he will beg on his knees for a chance to be fed and domesticated?

Will weaves their fingers together and cups Hannibal’s neck with his free hand, keeping the man close even as their lips part. There’s space for a single breath and then they’re kissing again, Will moving from his own chair to crawl into Hannibal’s lap.

Hannibal is fully aware of the fact that he has a hand grasping Will’s thigh, just below the curve of his ass with a grip so strong he practically heaves the younger man over into his own space. He is not about to look a gift horse in the mouth, and decides that matching Will’s energy in this is well worth any possible future fall-out. After all, he’s been thinking of how the meat of Will would fit into his hand, wondering what Will would feel like, just like this, writhing in his lap.

‘Hannibal,’ Will’s breath is broken, and Hannibal gets to hear him stutter out such a pretty plea when he greedily tilts his hips down into Hannibal’s, his arousal pushing angrily against his jeans, ‘Can I—’

Will brings their entwined hands between their bodies, finally releasing his hold on Hannibal’s digits so his own can fumble with the zipper of Hannibal’s trousers.

Hannibal wants to.

Passion is not an unfamiliar emotion for him, though he rarely takes this particularly-shaped block out to play. It’s intense and even to someone like himself, an altogether overwhelming thing.

He chooses not to.

‘Not tonight,’ Hannibal hums against Will’s open mouth, promises himself as much as he promises Will, and finds himself unable to resist the brunet’s red lips, falling into another kiss.

He uses a firm grip on Will’s wrist to guide his hand to his own neck instead, and allows him to grasp him there with both hands now, getting pulled into Will’s mouth so entirely he feels wholly devoured.

When next they speak it’s the very next morning, Will calling him up to talk to him from the comfort of his bed, gushing about how well the therapy worked and how he’s had the best sleep he’s had in ages. Hannibal wisely decides not to mention that he doesn’t think the somatic exercise they practised had all that much to do with it. He figures Will already knows, if his coy tone is anything to go by.

***

Chapter Text

Two times

Hannibal awakes to the sound of his front door bell ringing at 2:22 in the morning. He knows Will is away on a case, and factors the possibility that the man has been hurt and Jack is here to bring him the news into account as he wraps his cashmere robe tightly around his body. There is an urgency to his step, if only because once his mind supplies him with the possibility, the thought of Will getting irreparably hurt will not leave his mind.

He does so loathe when others play with his things – only Hannibal is competent enough to hurt but not destroy.

When he opens the door he reveals none other than Will Graham himself, tucked into his long wool coat and the scarf that have by now become a comforting staple in the man’s wardrobe. He’s favouring his right side, and his left arm is not in his sleeve – he smells of antiseptic and that sharp underlying coppery tinge of blood.

‘Hey,’ Will says simply, pushing into the hallway past Hannibal.

It’s a rudeness he’s always afforded himself, treating Hannibal’s home like his own – it should infuriate Hannibal, but he finds that he is rather charmed by the ease in which Will takes his place in the shape of Hannibal’s world.

Hannibal is but a man, however, and he does value his precious moments of sleep.

He decides to tuck away his annoyance at being woken in the middle of the night in favour of the curiosity the entire situation brings him. This close to Will he can smell the sweat in his nape, and deduces Will must have hurried here from a scene as soon as his medical needs had been tended to. He’s not feverish, but there is a certain bounce to his step, and Hannibal wonders what could have him so excited.

‘I know,’ Will says when Hannibal has closed the door behind him, leaning up against it on his good side, a serious look on his face as he backtracks, ‘I mean. I know you know.’

It must be the adrenaline, Hannibal decides, because even Will is not usually this ineloquent. And now, Hannibal may be interested in what the younger man has to say, it is , after all, two in the morning and he hardly thinks expecting some clarity is too much to ask.

So instead of replying, he raises one eyebrow in question. Will’s eyes are wide, and he nervously licks his lips before attempting an explanation.

‘I’m supposed to honeytrap you. I’m pretending to kill Freddie Lounds next,’ Will’s eyes dart from Hannibal’s mouth back up to his eyes, and it’s so quick Hannibal knows it was unintentional – he licks his lips again, this too, a reflexive gesture, and indicates between the two of them, ‘And you know. And you think the kiss was about that, too.’

Hannibal purses his lips.

Will is not exactly wrong , but it’s not something he wants to admit out loud. It is one thing to push at the wound to see how much it will bleed, quite another when the wound wields easily and spills your whole insides out. Hannibal is willing to reveal some of himself to see how far Will is willing to take this game, but he has no intention of barring himself completely when Will is only trying to checkmate him.

‘I don’t want this friendship to be anything other than what you perceive it to be,’ Will bounces restlessly on the balls of his feet, ‘Well,’ he frowns, correcting himself, ‘I don’t want this to be a friendship.’

Hannibal takes a sharp intake of breath, suddenly acutely aware of his heart beating against his ribcage. Love is not an emotion, he reminds himself, but it is certainly made up of emotions, and Hannibal controls those. He is just altogether not very sure he controls them in regards to Will Graham.

Will bites his lip as he thinks over his next words. When he looks up at Hannibal next, his eyes are dark, and his lashes are dark, and his face is hidden in darkness, but what he says rings out like a light, ‘You don’t want this to be a friendship either.’

‘Will,’ Hannibal snarls in warning, offended and enamoured and intrigued all at once.

It appears that Will sees even the parts of him that he tries so carefully to hide from him. He does not like being outwitted in his own game. But he does like the way Will’s gaze never wavers, nothing but a painful sort of honesty painted across his face as he nervously awaits a reply.

Hannibal knows that these last few weeks, months , perhaps ever since he first met Will, he has been choosing to trust. It hasn’t always been the obvious choice, or the safe choice, but there is something in Will that inspires it within him. When he looks into Will’s eyes he recognises himself, and he’s only ever wanted to trust that Will sees himself in his eyes, too – he wants to believe he’s found a friend, but as his psychiatrist has so articulately pointed out to him some time ago, he himself is not all too familiar with the concept of friendship.

He has only ever wanted Will in his life, and he wants to say that whatever shape that takes matters very little to him, but he knows that what he sees in Will is a partnership, a family . He’s curious as to what would happen if he trusts Will’s with this – but then every single possible outcome where Will betrays him is screaming at him, cries echoing in the halls of his memory palace and he is afraid that if any of them come into fruition it will break down the walls of his so carefully constructed rooms.

‘Hannibal,’ Will’s face softens, as if he too feels the internal turmoil their game has caused – a lot less sweet than honey, it would be more aptly named a kale trap – and he reaches out to grasp at Hannibal’s robe with his good hand, ‘Tell me what to do and I’ll do it. I don’t just want to see you, I want you to show me .’

Hannibal wants. So he takes.

After all, who is he to deny what Will Graham wants so desperately to give him?

Hannibal takes his time to enjoy the emotions that splay across the younger man’s face as he reaches up to push some of his curls back. Until the very moment their lips meet, Will seems to be ready for whatever comes – whether it be Hannibal pushing him away, or pulling him closer, Will is prepared to go whichever way.

It’s more hunger this time, because Hannibal allows it to be. He lets his mouth tell the story he is not yet prepared to tell aloud, swipes his tongue across Will’s teeth and uses a hand on his lower back to strongly pull his frame closer when Will shudders. He allows their lips to separate so that he can feel Will’s ragged breath against his face and can carefully undo his coat.

Will whimpers when Hannibal pulls away from him completely, and practically falls back into the door for some stability. His cheeks are flushed and when he undoes his scarf, his neck is too, the blush painting him in an adorning light.

Hannibal hangs the coat besides his own, planning to take the man’s scarf next. Before he can turn around however, he becomes aware of Will’s figure looming behind him.

There is, perhaps, the smallest of seconds where Hannibal wonders if this is going to be the moment Will tries to check his king – perhaps he’ll use that scarf of his, bring it around Hannibal’s neck and pull ? However it is fleeting, and Hannibal wants to waste no time properly observing it.

In actuality, all Will does is lean into his back rather heavily, bringing his arms around Hannibal’s hips so that he can hold him. There’s the softness of his cheek against the base of Hannibal’s neck, and when he exhales Hannibal feels it play across his skin. Will nuzzles into him and Hannibal allows himself to bask in the moment, the anchoring hold of Will’s arms around his body and the solidity of his breathing against Hannibal’s back, and he decides that he is framing this very instant in his palace foyer for eternity – whatever the outcome, they will always have this.

Hannibal intwines his fingers with Will’s, keeping the man’s embrace gentle. He feels more than hears Will sigh in return, the auburn curls tickling into his nape. When the sharp scent of blood reaches his nose once again, he is reminded of the state Will is in – perhaps a little high on a mix of adrenaline and painkillers? – and turns in the embrace so that he can properly inspect the man.

Before he can say anything, Will is leaning up for another kiss, ever the impatient one. His hands grasp at the front of Hannibal’s robe, and he allows those cunning fingers to slip inside just a little, as if by mere accident, petting Hannibal’s chest and sending a delicious shiver down his spine.

He growls at the insolence, dark and deadly into the kiss, and bites down hard on Will’s bottom lip as punishment. The younger man whimpers but seems all the more encouraged, pushing his whole body closer and coaxing Hannibal’s mouth open with his tongue.

They are, rather rudely, interrupted by the ringing of Hannibal’s home phone, sharp and shrill from the bowels of the house. If Hannibal wasn’t so sure this has something to do with Will, he would already be planning a meal. As it is, however, he just pulls away from Will’s embrace, giving him a stern look.

Will has the audacity to look sheepish. His fingers are still dancing across Hannibal’s skin, and he appears distracted by the sight of his chest hair peeking out from his robe.

‘That will probably be Jack,’ he admits to Hannibal’s torso, ‘I wasn’t supposed to drive yet.’

‘Of course,’ Hannibal resists the urge to roll his eyes, the idea too banal, ‘your lack of self-preservation never ceases to amaze me.’

He doesn’t mention how waking up a serial killer in the middle of the night is only the last in a series of very unfortunate decisions Will has made to the detriment of his health.

Will already knows, and when he grins he shows his teeth.

‘You can’t argue with the results,’ he taps a finger against Hannibal’s sternum as if to illustrate, and this time Hannibal does roll his eyes.

He ends up picking up the phone the second time Jack rings, and after confirming that Will Graham did indeed run off after a perfunctory wound check at the scene and before medical could take him in, he assures Jack he will take care of the man. A flesh wound doesn’t sound like something that is above Hannibal’s paygrade, after all.

After gathering everything he’ll need to treat Will, he makes his way back into the hallway.

It is empty, and Will’s scarf is thrown over the back of a chair.

Hannibal reminds himself killing Will at this time would be highly impractical, and although he is sure the man would taste absolutely delicious on his plate, there is something to be said about how good he tastes alive, too.

Sounds are coming from his kitchen, and when he follows them to their source, he finds Will looking at his opened white wines in the fridge, picking one seemingly completely at random.

‘What are you doing?’ Hannibal asks simply, setting his first aid kit on the marble kitchen island.

‘I’m feeling celebratory,’ Will throws over his shoulder as he looks for glasses.

‘You’ve been shot ,’ Hannibal feels the need to accentuate the word, quite sure the brunet needs the reminder.

‘I forewent the pain killers so I could drive here,’ Will says, holding up two wine glasses.

They’re red wine glasses, but Hannibal decides not to mention it.

‘Besides,’ Will smiles at him while he fills their glasses, his eyes darkened in the dim light, ‘aren’t you curious to find out how wine tastes on me?’

Hannibal can’t help the grin that breaks out across his face. He feels altogether proud at Will’s brazenness and is absolutely famished .

They clink their glasses together without a word, and they don’t break their eye contact while they drink. Hannibal feels as if his skin may be electric, and reminds himself of the dangers of passion. He tells himself he can control himself.

When he offers to take a look at Will’s injury and the man teases, ‘you’re just trying to get me naked,’ he feels his patience snap, all at once, and he lets it go, too.

Before either of them can say another thing, he’s already heaved Will up and over his shoulder, carefully avoiding his wounded arm but making sure to give his butt a good smack. Will makes a sound that is equally surprised and excited, and Hannibal can just imagine the man's cheeks going red.

‘I’ve had it with your insolence,’ Hannibal growls, walking them out of the kitchen, ‘I am going to teach you a lesson.’

‘H— Hannibal ,’ Will tries to sound insulted, but Hannibal can hear the breathlessness in his voice and smirks when Will’s hips push into his shoulder almost imperceptibly.

He will not be hungry for much longer.

When they lay together in bed afterwards, he finally gets to take a look at Will’s gunshot wound. The brunet himself is all tuckered out, his whole demeanour soft and pliable after cumming twice – Hannibal is particularly proud of Will’s second orgasm, the vision of the man riding Hannibal until he came, untouched, burned onto his retina – almost sullenly demanding kisses and cuddles and fully monopolising Hannibal’s attention until he’s pleased with the amount of licks the man has lavished over the many bitemarks he left with his canines.

The scent of blood in the room makes his teeth ache, and he has to resist the urge to push them into the soft flesh beneath him. Instead, he honours Will’s exhausted state and wraps him in a hug and presses kisses into his auburn curls until he can hear the man’s breathing even out.

Only then does he undo the gauze to inspect the wound properly. He’s pleasantly surprised to see the injury has already stopped bleeding by itself, and looks to be a lot less serious than Hannibal had feared.

‘Will I need stitches?’ Will asks groggily, from the comfort of his position as Hannibal’s small spoon – he looks about ready to fall asleep again.

Well, Hannibal decides, going back on his earlier words, after being awoken in the middle of the night, that just won’t do. And does Will not deserve to be worshipped the best way Hannibal knows how – with his teeth ?

He nuzzles Will’s nape, and presses soothing kisses over the tooth marks he previously left all over the side of Will’s supple neck. Will’s gasp is soft in the quiet room, and the hand that had been lying motionless tossed over Hannibal’s hip moves to grasp at his flesh, all of a sudden awake and eager.

Hannibal brings his mouth to the shoulder of his injured arm, licks the salt off the skin there, and then opens his mouth wide so that he can set his teeth into the meat, letting Will feel his intent.

‘Do you want to need stitches?’

Will just giggles in reply, before the sound lilts up into a moan when Hannibal’s teeth dig in.

***

Chapter Text

Three times

Love isn’t an emotion, Hannibal knows. But ever since running off to move across the world and ensuring their new identities are all in order, hopping from luxurious hotel to luxurious hotel until they decide on a place and a home where they can lay low for the time being, he has found he greatly anticipates his date-nights with Will Graham.

He chooses the yellow triangle shape that represents trust a lot more naturally, lately, as well.

When they return to their suite after a night at the opera, Hannibal is already buzzing. He has learned that Will Graham is particularly bad at keeping his hands to himself.

They’ve left their shoes by the door and are teasingly touching, fingers skimming each other’s sides lightly. Will plays his role so well, chatting to strangers comfortably as he nurses his wine during the intermission, gushing about their daughter with the brightest of smiles, bashfully showing off the expensive ring Hannibal bought him in lieu of a wedding ring. Everyday Hannibal is grateful that he gets to see this man come more and more into himself, shedding his people suit piece by piece.

‘I miss my dogs,’ Will sighs wistfully and leans back against the closed door, fumbling to get his tie undone.

Hannibal does not miss Will’s dogs, or the dog hair that permeated Will’s every article of clothing while he lived in Wolf Trap. However, somewhere along the way Hannibal has found that he is at peace knowing they will be a dog family. The time isn’t right, yet, but Hannibal knows, as sure as he knows that Will adores him, that there is a furry fourth family member waiting in their future.

That doesn’t mean Will does not ache with it, however, and Hannibal knows it just as well. Will rarely wallows in self-pity, but there is the occasional sadness painted across his face when he thinks Hannibal isn’t looking. He loathes to admit that he misses anything from the life they left behind. Hannibal’s heart hurts when he sees Will like that, and he is determined to make it up to the man, as soon as he can.

In the meantime, however, Will has been forlornly staring at every dog they pass on the streets, heaving deep dramatic sighs as if he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. As if Hannibal could ever deny him anything. Every inch of this Will Graham is the manipulative, cocky bastard Hannibal could have only dreamt he would become when they first met, and there is not a day that goes by where Hannibal does not rejoice in knowing that this is what a little curiosity brought into fruition.

He likes this game Will plays so well. He gives Will his best mournful moue and innocently says, ‘my dearest Will,’ as he reaches out a hand to run through the auburn curls.

Hannibal notes the way Will’s eyes spark alight at the simple touch.

He takes a hold of Will’s lapels next, pulls him off the door and safely into his body so that he can nuzzle into his neck, breathing the next words into the man’s sensitive skin so that he shudders in Hannibal’s hold, ‘whatever shall we do to help you feel better?’

Will butts his head into Hannibal’s gently, his laughter breathy.

‘You insatiable man,’ he growls, burying his hands in between Hannibal’s formal pants and his underwear. Will cranes his neck so that they can share an open mouthed kiss, more about exchanging breath and coming home to one another than anything else. Then, Will pulls back to say solemnly, ‘we will be talking about the dogs later.’

‘Of course,’ Hannibal nods his head, equally solemn.

Will is the first to break character, bursting out into a low chuckle before resting his forehead against Hannibal’s. They breathe together for a moment. Hannibal nuzzles into Will’s nose and then kisses him fiercely, the touches they have shared during the opera and the cab ride back to the hotel just about all the foreplay he can bear.

Hannibal takes both his own coat and Will’s to hang it up properly, followed by their suit jackets, before he works to undo his shirt next.

Still the impatient one, Will moves a lot faster, practically ripping his dress shirt off himself in his hurry to undress.

‘Will,’ Hannibal growls warningly, seconds before the man can do something silly like drop his clothes to the floor.

Will lies blatantly, right to Hannibal’s face.

‘I wasn’t going to drop it,’ he says innocently, stumbling when he rushes to take off his socks, and then begrudgingly following Hannibal’s lead and tossing them in the hamper, handing his shirt over so Hannibal can hang it beside his own.

Will has already chucked off his pants and folded them before Hannibal’s even undone his button. As much as he wants to hurry, he knows testing the limits of Will Graham’s patience will always be worth the wait.

‘ Hannibal ,’ Will lets out an impatient sigh when he realises Hannibal is taking his sweet time.

Even in his impatience, Will Graham continues to surprise Hannibal. It’s always a particularly gratifying experience for Hannibal.

Will doesn’t break their eye-contact as he steps out of his briefs and then picks them off the floor and throws them in the hamper before coming over into Hannibal’s space. He’s all warm and naked along Hannibal’s chest and after pressing some hot, open-mouthed kisses along Hannibal’s throat, Will’s baby blues once more meet Hannibal’s, and then the younger man drops to his knees and buries his nose in the crotch of Hannibal’s pants.

‘Haven’t I been good?’ Will drawls, a sort of raw undertone to his voice, his eyes speaking of something aching. His hands travel up Hannibal’s thighs and go to cradle his hips, keeping their bodies close and his hands busy, sending chills down Hannibal’s spine. ‘And still you deny me.’

Hannibal feels a wanting from Will, something yearning in his gut that he cannot put a proper finger on. He never wishes to deny the man anything. And so he cups Will’s face in his hands, runs his fingers through the auburn locks soothingly, and pushes at Will’s bottom lip with his thumb so he can bare the man’s teeth, trying to convey that whatever Will wants, he will get.

‘Did you think I wouldn’t notice?’ Will continues, pressing a kiss to Hannibal’s probing finger and then his knuckles, ‘You’ve been holding out on me, showing me only your sweet side.’

Hannibal thinks of Randall Tier’s body on his kitchen table. He thinks of the bite marks he enjoys leaving all over Will’s body, of the smacks he likes to deliver when Will is open and pliant and waiting, of the sight of his hand, imprinted red on Will’s plump arse for days to come. He thinks of all the ways he’s marked Will as his and all the ways Will’s beautifully taken him, let him scrawl his insignia all over his willing body, and shows Hannibal's ownership to every person they meet. And yet…

Hannibal chuckles mirthlessly, ‘Have I been sweet?’

Will hums and presses a kiss to Hannibal’s soft belly, ‘I know you can be sweeter,’ to drive his point home, he digs his teeth into the pliant skin next, making the older man above him hiss sharply. ‘Don’t you ever want to just take ?’

Hannibal knows that Will already knows the answer.

Will sees all of him and Hannibal wants to own all of him, in turn. But love is care and commitment and closeness, and Hannibal is scared to lose even an inch of that. It’s not a block he usually takes out to play, loathes it, in fact , but when he’s working out every possible outcome and even just a single one of them ends with a future without Will in it, fear is all he feels.

Love is also trust and honesty and anticipation, and when Will is playing him so well – completely nude and loyal at Hannibal’s feet, praying to him with purposeful touches to his hips and a mouth that Hannibal feels the heat of through his pants – it is very hard to think of anything but.

He buries his fingers in Will’s curls and pulls, compelling him to get up. Will makes a show out of it – runs his open mouth over Hannibal’s belly and chest as he follows the sharp command, pushes his prick into Hannibal’s slacks and brings their foreheads together.

‘Partnerships are usually about equality, dear Will,’ he explains softly, a razor sharp edge to his tone that has the hairs on the back of Will’s neck rising, ‘If I were to take what I want, I would eat you whole.’

Will moans at the words and his prick weeps rather pathetically between their bodies. He has to close his eyes, and Hannibal watches him carefully as he tries to look for the right thing to say – his conniving tactics momentarily forgotten in the heat and honesty of the moment.

‘This is not just a partnership Hannibal,’ Will’s voice is breathy, but Hannibal can read the significance of what he’s saying in his tightened features, ‘We are more than packmates,’ he licks his lips when he refers to their conversation on their eagerness to Hunt, a calculating move that impacts Will as much as it does Hannibal, their embrace tightening. Will groans and pushes into Hannibal almost desperately, his nails clawing at Hannibal’s strong back and his mouth hot against Hannibal’s neck. He nuzzles the sensitive area, gives it an experimental lick, and says, ‘I don’t want to live another day knowing we did not consume every inch of one another,’ before he digs his teeth in.

Hannibal feels his pulse beat between Will’s sharp teeth, and then the piercing sting followed by the immediate flush of arousal when the younger man breaks his skin.

The wave of passion hits him like a brick wall, but then it always does with Will. He will think he has perfect control of this very intense and all-consuming thing and then the next moment Will will snap his restraint like a twig.

Usually when the beast rears its head he will push back, present a watered down version to permit their relationship the idea of normalcy. Until now, Hannibal has always decided to err on the side of caution, unwilling to lose Will.

However, this time… when Will moans in abandon, irises swallowed in never ending black holes when they meet Hannibal’s, Will’s lips slick with his blood and his mouth drinking eagerly, Hannibal fathoms neither of them can be satisfied with watered down versions and the idea of normalcy any longer.

He moves quickly – grabs Will around the waist and hoists him up in his arms. Will goes eagerly, wraps his legs around Hannibal’s waist and kisses him with a maddening eagerness, the taste of blood fresh on his lips and this , the very real reality that he is sharing in his own consumption with his beloved, sets Hannibal’s teeth on edge . He is famished. He growls into the kiss and drinks deeply from Will’s mouth, not satisfied until they’ve swapped so much saliva the taste of copper has left their mouths entirely, and then still, hungry for more.

Hannibal takes a few steps towards the bed before tossing Will onto the plush sheets. The brunette makes a noise of surprise in the back of his throat and stares as Hannibal finally removes his dress pants. Will’s chin is smeared with blood, and his eyes are hungry. He licks his lips.

For a moment Hannibal just basks in the appreciative look Will affords him. His arousal is heavy between his legs and his whole body is flushed, his chest heaving with his harsh breaths as he rests on his elbows and waits for Hannibal to make his next move.

Hannibal pounces.

They wrestle on the bed for a moment, Will’s instincts kicking in and refusing to let him go quietly. It’s not an easy feat to overpower him, and a heavy heat settles in Hannibal’s belly at the realisation that they would be toe-to-toe in combat. They’ve always made an exceptionally great team, but Hannibal realises not for the first time that they truly are equals, in every way, matched even in their savagery.

When Hannibal’s hand finds Will’s sensitive throat and squeezes, the younger man goes still rather abruptly. Hannibal has gotten up on his chest and is pinning his arms under his knees before he realises Will has gone slack, and for a moment he worries he has taken things too far – the icy fingers of fear squeezing at his heart’s strings – and goes to move off the younger man completely.

As soon as Will’s hand is freed, it snatches Hannibal’s wrist and his warm skin atop Hannibal’s chases all worries away when he doesn’t tug free from Hannibal’s grip, but instead, holds Hannibal’s fist around his own throat. His pulse is thundering away, his breathing heavy from more than just exertion.

Will must have seen that wretched internal conflict – however miniscule the wavering moment , is there ever even a doubt that Will could read him like a book? – because his features soften. He presses his throat into Hannibal’s palm and their eyes meet, Will’s liquid and dark things, attempting to swallow Hannibal whole.

‘I am yours,’ Will speaks, and Hannibal feels his Adam’s apple bobbing beneath his hand, ‘If you were to kill me right now I would happily die by your hands. Nothing you do to me will ever change the way I feel about you.’

There’s nothing like a little raw honesty to make Hannibal’s heart stutter. It still amazes him that despite the games he so enjoys playing with Will, there is nothing that quite gets him going like the man’s sincerity – perhaps exactly because he is the only one that gets to experience Will like this, meek and genuine and real, all for Hannibal .

‘My sweet Will,’ Hannibal purrs and watches the goosebump rise up Will’s arms, ‘I could never kill you in such a formal way as to kill you by hand.’

He puts some pressure behind his hand as if to contradict his own words, and waits for Will’s eyes to flutter shut in ecstasy before removing it.

Will’s baby blues shoot open, glaring at Hannibal with a petulant sense of displeasure. Hannibal just chuckles, lifting himself off the younger man’s chest so he can position himself properly. He doesn’t miss the desperate way in which Will fists his cock as Hannibal moves up on his knees to hover right above Will’s face.

‘A-ah,’ Hannibal scolds, pulling the eager hand off to place it atop the flesh of his thighs instead, encouraging him to explore. Will moves the other one to mimic the movement and squeeze into Hannibal’s supple arse. ‘You’re going to tap my hip if it’s too much, okay? Can you do that?’ Will nods hastily, moving to tap a finger against Hannibal’s soft hip to demonstrate. ‘So obedient sweetheart,’ Hannibal praises, watches the flush come to Will’s cheeks. ‘And you remember you can always say stop, I’m not going to think of you as less of a good boy, okay?’

Will moans and tries canting his neck to get a taste. Hannibal chuckles but moves his hips away so Will can’t reach, and when he looks down at the man their gazes meet. He brings his fingers between his own legs to tease his dicklet and gets to watch Will’s eyes spark alight, hungrily eyeing the move.

‘The things you do to me,’ Hannibal smiles down at the brunet, presses his damp fingers against his mouth – Will opens up immediately, waves his tongue around the digits messily to try and get a taste – pushing in past his lips to feel his teeth. ‘You have me soaking.’

Will whines, his fingers gripping into Hannibal’s thighs to try and pull him down. When Hannibal refuses to move – instead continuing to smirk down at him – he groans pitifully.

Instead of brute force Will relies on his best asset – his mouth. He presses kisses into Hannibal’s fingers and licks his lips hungrily and pleads , ‘Hannibal please ,’ words spilling from his lips like sweet nectar, ‘ please sit on my face, I’ll be so good.’

Hannibal knows it’s not an empty promise. So he shows mercy and does as implored.

Will’s mouth is upon him within a mere heartbeat, pressed to his cunt as if drinking from a golden chalice, lips eagerly sucking and tongue teasing between his folds to get at the sweet nectar inside. He quickly finds that no matter what the circumstances, Will is always famished when it comes to his cunt – even with Hannibal’s thighs right besides his head and the looming threat of having his air cut off – as he dives right in, worshipping like a dying man at the altar. He laps like a starving dog, flattening his tongue over Hannibal’s dick and moaning when it makes his cunt gush more slick, immediately moving his cunning mouth to drink Hannibal dry.

There’s a thrill to the position that is new to Hannibal.

He enjoys the control he has, the sort of push-and-pull of dropping low enough that he can hear Will choke beneath him and hovering just close enough to his face that he can ride his dicklit into Will’s tongue repeatedly.

Will drinks as if parched, kneads into Hannibal’s thighs with his strong fingers and every so often his eyes will flutter shut in pleasure, the sounds he makes muffled now, but sending sweet vibrations up Hannibal’s spine. The brunet’s mouth is a wild, ravenous thing, his tongue lavishing across the seam of Hannibal’s cunt and then spearing to thrust inside. His teeth are just as eager, grazing across his dicklet in a way that makes his hips shudder and his breathing thrum. As promised, Will works hard indeed, licking and sucking and choking to please Hannibal.

Hannibal himself enjoys the position as a practice in restraint – it would be so easy to cum like this, to ride Will’s mouth until his toes are curling and the heavy heat in his tummy bursts.

But that’s not what he wants from Will today, and he is determined to take exactly what he wants – it’s self-control before the storm, fasting before the feast, and oh, today he feels like a glutton and he is curious as to how Will will react when he properly takes what’s his.

After all, isn’t that what he’d begged so prettily for?

Will is already leaking onto his soft belly, rather desperately bucking his hips in the air as if he can get the friction he seeks that way. Hannibal leans back slightly, pushing one hand into Will’s hips to keep him still and support himself, the canting of his hips allowing Will to spear his tongue in even deeper, the brunette’s approval immediate as he moans into Hannibal’s cunt.

Hannibal wonders idly how far he can push Will. He feels his hip twitching underneath his hand and his breath stuttering beneath his body and he’d like to find out if Will can cum, just like this. After all, Will eats his cunt as if the very act of worshipping it can sustain him, it sure seems that if Hannibal is only patient enough, the younger man may reach his completion, without even needing to be touched.

He decides against it. Hannibal cants his hips to settle more securely on Will’s face, feeling the brunet’s answering gasp against his hole, and then reaches back to fist his angry prick.

It’s a triumph when Will cums almost embarrassingly fast, but this is exactly how Hannibal likes him – all wound up and watching him go – needy and greedy and desperate for whatever Hannibal will give him. He clenches his thighs and watches Will’s eyes glaze over when his air is cut off, and then with only a couple of pumps of Hannibal’s wrist he’s cumming all over himself, his orgasm racking through his body like a tidal wave. He cums so hard some of his seed splatters across Hannibal’s back, painting it white and making Hannibal shudder at the sensation – there is something so basic in his satisfaction at being marked by Will this way.

Ever the overachiever, Will tries stubbornly to continue his mouth’s ministrations, even with his post-orgasmic haze softening the edges of his desires and his air cut off, his eyes slipping shut as he makes a pathetic choking sound when Hannibal eases up and allows him to breathe.

Hannibal strokes him through his orgasm, until he’s softened and flopping a little woefully against his stomach. He enjoys the sensation of Will’s mouth a little longer, the warm wet heath of it and the intent with which Will eats him out; as if he’s trying to inhale him. When he rides Will’s mouth just so the man’s fingers scrape at his thighs, trying to pull him infinitely closer and the desperation and the seal of Will’s lips around his dicklet has his orgasm sneaking up on him.

He sits down properly and watches as Will’s eyes roll back inside his head and feels the impact the move has on him. His mouth is almost aggressive, frantic as he tries to breathe but gets a mouthful of slick, and just like that, watching his lover’s look of utter abandon, Hannibal is cumming, bucking into Will’s filthy face.

With his dicklit still throbbing, Hannibal moves to take the pressure off Will’s airway. Will’s hand slides up his thigh and the man, although half gone, pushes his thumb into Hannibal’s sensitive dicklit, feeling the way it clenches and releases as he’s still cumming. Will gasps at the sudden rush of air, but his hand remains diligent now that his mouth has gone slack, offering Hannibal the friction he craves to ride out his orgasm in Will’s palm. Hannibal feels like an animal in a rut; he feels no longer fully in control of his body as his hips move stiltedly, desperate to chase his high.

By the time he moves off Will’s body completely Hannibal still feels tingly. Will moues at the loss, his hand dropping by his side rather pathetically. Hannibal sits cross-legged besides him and tugs at the sweaty curls to encourage him to settle in his lap. He drags his fingers through the messy mop of hair, scratching at his scalp and watching as Will gasps for breath, hands coming up to cup Hannibal’s thighs reverently, always desperate for touch.

Will attempts to speak, his mouth filthy and glistening, but Hannibal cuts him off with a hungry kiss. He tastes himself in Will’s mouth and savours it, fucks his tongue into Will’s eager mouth just because he can. Will is moaning, probably thinking about all the times he’s been spread across Hannibal’s assortment of dicks, split open with insistent fingers and an even more insistent tongue.

Hannibal’s hands roam across Will’s still-heaving chest, teasing his nipples and then following his happy trail.

‘You didn’t think we were finished, did you?’ Hannibal murmurs into their next kiss, amused at Will’s reaction when his fingers play across his limp dick.

He already knows that Will’s cock won’t be able to fill up again so quickly, but the way Will is growling tells him it’s not for a lack of trying on the younger man’s part. Hannibal is feeling particularly smug as his hands play across the soft tummy; it does so endear him how hard Will tries.

‘Come here,’ Hannibal beckons after another series of kisses, urging Will to roll over onto his front.

Will then gets up onto his hands and knees and crawls up to crowd into Hannibal’s lap, mouth begging for more kisses. Hannibal cups Will’s face, and he sighs in adoration at the sight of Will, cheeks flushed and curls matted to his forehead, bruises in his neck from sharp kisses and still asking for more, giving Hannibal everything he has.

‘You look so good on your knees sweetheart,’ Hannibal praises, pets down Will’s cheeks when the younger man bites his lip in answer. ‘Makes me want to tie you up and eat you whole.’

Will moans at the words, and then lets Hannibal bruise his lips in a kiss. Hannibal pulls him into a proper embrace and falls back to the bed at the move, dragging Will atop him. Will is all too pleased to go, burying his face in Hannibal’s neck and pushing his teeth into the already battered flesh.

‘Hannibal, please—’ Will’s hand worms between their bodies, desperate to feel Hannibal’s wetness and sink his fingers into it.

Hannibal snags Will’s hand before it can reach its goal, instead weaving their fingers together.

‘My eager boy,’ Hannibal hums, and offers more of his neck to Will’s hungry mouth. ‘Now…’ their eyes meet, Will’s wide and curious and Hannibal has to resist the urge to cover his face in kisses, the doe-like look on his face unleashing something soft and clawing in Hannibal. ‘You’re going to show me exactly how sweet you think I am,’ he watches Will’s irises grow and licks his lips, already imagining how good the younger man’s mouth will feel on his body, his fingers teasing him open and—‘and then you’re going to fuck me while I choke you.’

Will looks absolutely smitten , there’s no more apt way to describe the look on his face. He’s absolutely dumbfounded, mouth open in surprise as he nods keenly, like a child discovering they get to play with their favourite toy. Hannibal imagines he can see the cartoon hearts popping out of Will’s eyes, he looks so pretty and besotted.

‘Perfect,’ Hannibal smiles into their kiss, readily communicating his own delight at the situation.

Then, even more thrilled, he deepens the kiss, sliding his tongue into Will’s mouth and feeling his teeth. He remembers what it was like to kiss with his blood on Will’s lips and moans at the very thought of what will come next.

Hannibal sucks Will’s bottom lip into his mouth and then digs his teeth in. He feels the skin break against his own hungry lips, the coppery taste of blood filling their mouths. Will is mewling into the kiss as if he’s just reached nirvana, his hands greedy in how they grasp at Hannibal’s body.

For an inch of time Hannibal just savours the moment – Will heavy atop him and his hands possessive in their touch and their mouths so closely meshed together they might as well be one. Will’s worship of him is absolutely divine, and he feels more alive because of it, deliciously, maddeningly aware of his own mortality. His heart beats fast in his throat and his chest is heaving, and Will’s pulse beats against him in every single cell of his skin and they feel whole , somehow painfully human and infinite, all at once.

Will is dazed with the kisses, but eager none-the-less, resting his weight atop Hannibal and working hard to give back as much as he’s taking. His eyes glass over in want when Hannibal takes one of his hands and brings it up towards their faces, murmuring, ‘open up,’ before leading the fingers into Will’s own mouth.

The gash in his lip mixed with his saliva stains his fingers red, thick with the scent of blood, and when Hannibal is appropriately pleased with how bloody and slick they are, he brings Will’s hand down between his own legs, where he’s already wet and waiting.

The change in Will’s demeanour is immediate – his eyes go black and he snarls, looking down between their bodies as one of his digits disappears. Will groans at just the sensation of Hannibal’s cunt around his finger, at the heat of him against his palm, at the bloodstain his fingers have left in the blond curls.

Hannibal gasps at his lover’s ferocity – Will’s gone wild during their encounters before, but never quite like this – the brunet’s digit feral in its aim, curling so he can press into where Hannibal wants it most. Will’s mouth finds purchase against his collar bone, and then nips its way to his nipple and the next, and he drags his bleeding lip all over Hannibal’s chest and then sits back to admire his handiwork.

There’s nothing much more that Hannibal can do than delight in the ever-unexpectedness that is Will Graham. He watches with narrowed and curious eyes as Will lets a line of saliva and blood fall from his mouth onto Hannibal’s pubic bone, catching the slick with his fingers and dragging it across his dicklet so he can push the wetness into Hannibal’s waiting cunt. The digits are eagerly swallowed whole, soft velvet engulfing them and dragging them deeper. Will growls as he watches them go, spearing his fingers as if his mission is to drive his own life’s blood into the very core of Hannibal.

It feels so good and knowing it’s Will ’s feels even better and Hannibal goes a little crazy with it too, moans like a cheap whore and buries his nails into Will’s biceps, fucking back into the fingers that Will thrusts in as if they’re his cock, hard and deep strokes.

When Will pulls his fingers out to circle Hannibal’s dicklet Hannibal thinks he might cum just from seeing the way Will watches his own actions so closely. His dedication is so alluring, and Hannibal’s so hard, and he doesn’t want to cum yet, not like this, not on Will’s hands when he wants his cock, but before he can voice the notion Will smacks lightly across his dicklet and then plants his hands besides Hannibal’s head so he can lean in and kiss him.

He swallows the little startled and greedy noise Hannibal makes at the disrespect, equally aroused and annoyed at the disobedience, surprised and pleased and angry all at once.

Will, however far gone his mind may be, knows better than to leave Hannibal irritated, and spends the better part of the next half hour making it up to the older man with his touches and kisses. He explores every part of Hannibal’s body with his insistent fingers and roving mouth, every now and then reopening the gash on his lip and leaving little blots of blood, his fingers sometimes wandering off to push inside his wet cunt, like a moth drawn to a flame.

Hannibal imagines how he appears before Will’s eyes. He must make quite the sight, with Will’s bloody teeth print in his neck, Will’s hungry hickeys across his chest and down his hips, his slippery kisses all down Hannibal’s sternum, and little spots of red drying against his pale skin. Will looks infinitely proud of himself, knowing fully well he’s thoroughly staked his claim.

Hannibal thinks maybe all his nerves are on end, every single fibre of his being thrumming with the sweetness Will drinks from him. He’s heavy with his arousal now, more an all-encompassing, steady heat, than an urgent need. When Will slides his wet fingers back into Hannibal’s hungry cunt it’s more about Will’s own need than Hannibal’s, really. Because the younger man is already hard again, and the sound he makes when Hannibal takes three fingers at a time is not from this earth, a deep and desperate thing.

Their kisses turn urgent, and the way Will whimpers when his thrusting fingers make a sloshing sound is urgent, and his knee between Hannibal’s legs is urgent, and the way he sort of desperately presses his cock into Hannibal’s bony hip, tries to get some friction, it’s all urgent, Will wanton and not above begging for it. He sighs pathetically against Hannibal’s shoulder, whimpers, ‘babe you’re so wet, ’ and then changes his mind, pushes himself in a half upright position so he can watch his own fingers disappear and moan.

Hannibal cants his hips to give Will a better view and then doesn’t miss the way his pupils dilate, a dark shadow passing across his figure as he feels a stab of hunger. It’s a fleeting thing, because Will knows he’ll get more with sweet words than rough demands, especially now, with Hannibal’s cunt sweet like honey and only available for those who sing its highest praise. He looks almost forlorn, a stab of desperation in his features as his fingers curl, his stomach hollow with need. Will bites his lips, looks back up at Hannibal’s face and begs, ‘please Hannibal, I want to see you so badly, please ,’ and there’s tears in the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill.

Will knows Hannibal likes him best when he’s begging and needy with want, and he does always use that to his advantage quite expertly. He knows it’s hard for Hannibal to resist him when he’s so raw, his features unguarded and his voice so thick with it – he begs because he knows Hannibal won’t deny him.

It does something to Hannibal – he doesn’t want to call it passion because that would simply not suffice. It’s a deep and buried thing, something akin to when he kills but somehow opposite, somehow reverent, somehow eager to sacrifice whatever it takes to keep Will in his life. And it drives him mad and it comforts him and it’s a warm clawing thing in the back of his throat that he cannot put into words, something he can only communicate with his fist and his teeth.

Hannibal snarls, that scraping aching thing clenching at his heart and he’s all of a sudden too far gone to let himself lay quietly as he is adored. He knows what he wants and he wants it now – more than that, Hannibal wants to be the one to take it.

Will makes a little ‘oomph’ sound as Hannibal showcases his strength and pushes him to the bed, gasps out a sob when his fingers get forced from Hannibal’s heat, and then sobs again when Hannibal’s hand finds his delicate throat. He pushes his head back into the bed, bares the long lines of his neck and whimpers, ‘ please Hannibal ,’ and Hannibal growls as he climbs atop the brunette and sinks down onto his already leaking cock.

It’s an altogether new sensation, and it somehow feels even better than he imagined, but also more . His cockhead is blunt and the fit tight, even with how wet he is, and it takes him several long moments to drive his hips down and finally take him to the hilt as he bottoms out on his lap.

Hannibal had reckoned this would be it for him, this would be how he finally and completely devours Will, eats him alive and takes him into every single corner of his body, in all the desolate and lonely places of his heart and his flesh, soaks Will in and swallows him whole. The power he would feel at this sense of ownership would be unmatched, Hannibal had known this all along, and yet it somehow still defies all expectations. He feels equally owned, Will hard and possessive inside of him, filling up every free inch and then some, demanding every wisp of his being.

Maybe Hannibal is crying too, because they’re so intimately and entirely one and he doesn’t know where his body, all liquid heat, begins, and Will’s, melting and soft, ends. He can only hope their becoming is equally unmatched when they kill together.

Will’s hands blindly find Hannibal’s narrow hips, and while Hannibal’s hand tightens around his throat he tries to buck off the bed, fuck into Hannibal’s wetness a little harder. Hannibal snarls, brings his teeth to the hollow of Will’s throat, right below his own hand, and bites down, hard.

The sound Will makes is wet and gurgling and pathetic, and his whole body shudders with it, his pulse quickening as blood spills from the wound and his breath is taken. With the taste of Will’s blood fresh in his mouth, his hands leaving bruises on his hips and his body, Hannibal feels as if his entire being is so devastatingly beautifully alive , chanting Will in every single pore of his body and mind and soul. And all he can do is sit upright and use his free hand to brace himself on Will’s chest so that he can start riding the man in earnest.

Will sobs , and Hannibal doesn’t know if it’s from the physical pain, or the pleasure, and to be very honest he doesn’t very much care at that moment, either. He has blood on his face, Will’s choking beneath him and all he cares about is that when he manages to angle his thrusts just so Will’s cockhead bumps into something inside of him that makes moths explode all through his tummy, something delicious and new and intoxicating.

‘ Oh God, ’ Will gasps for breath when Hannibal finally releases the pressure on his throat, and his death-grip on Hannibal’s waist slackens, one hand sliding between his thighs and thumbing at his dick as if to encourage him to keep going.

‘Call me by my name,’ Hannibal orders, and he gets to see Will smirk through the tears rolling down his cheeks, lip battered and bleeding and expression absolutely wrecked .

‘Insufferable,’ he huffs out, but it’s so affectionate Hannibal decides to let it slide.

Will sniffles, tries to swallow through his bruised throat and fingers Hannibal’s cunt so he can watch himself disappear. It makes him groan, low and dark, and he struggles to get up on his elbows, straining his neck in a request for kisses.

Hannibal still tastes like copper. He allows Will to explore his mouth, tongue desperate for a taste, and then his sharp teeth to nip at his mouth. His hungry boy, always wanting more, Hannibal thinks of him fondly.

When Will puts his feet up against the bed so he can thrust up into Hannibal’s cunt, uncoordinated and sloppy, Hannibal feels a lot less fond. His palm shoots up to wrap around Will’s neck and he growls, ‘if you cum before I do I will never let you have me like this again, understood?’

It’s an empty threat, Hannibal knows. He’s not sure Will knows, however, and that’s kind of the point. Will shakes his head vehemently, as far as it can go with Hannibal’s fist around his throat, and begs croakily, ‘I just want you closer Hannibal, you’re so lovely, please, please, please .’

Hannibal could never deny the younger man his request, not really, because he is always craving for the exact same thing, their togetherness. But they have begun to blur, physically too, and he wants to point out that he has already allowed Will room to take up space inside his body, quite literally , and he’s not sure how much more he can offer now, curious as to find out what Will could possibly think he has left to give.

‘My sweet, gluttonous boy,’ Hannibal purrs, and allows his thighs a break as he settles down in Will’s lap fully, enjoying the stretch of his cunt as he takes Will’s full cock. He wriggles his hips, just to feel Will press against his walls, and watches the way Will sobs for it. Merciful, Hannibal moves into a shallow thrust, smirking as he demands, ‘Show me what you mean.’

Will looks relieved and pleased and so far gone Hannibal worries he hasn’t understood. However, he pushes himself up on his hands and then wraps his arms firmly around Hannibal’s lower back while he gets into a proper sitting position, cross-legged with Hannibal hovering above his lap.

With his arms still around Hannibal’s frame, he pulls them chest to chest and nuzzles into his neck, pressing wet kisses against the sensitive skin. Hannibal rolls his hips experimentally and gasps out a moan when his cunt swallows Will even deeper, the sensation stirring through his tummy and setting his core alight.

They move like that for a moment, Will patient as Hannibal tests the new angle and enjoys the long, deep thrusts. Their mouths seek each other out, their kisses sloppy and wet, Hannibal’s cunt equally wet, slobbering all over Will’s dick. The friction is delicious but it’s not enough, and when Will reaches between their bodies so he can push his palm into Hannibal’s dicklet, taking him between his fingers and then sliding down to gather slick from his cunt and use that to fist him in a tight and wet grasp, Hannibal has no other choice but to quicken his thrusts, his orgasm suddenly altogether too close and just out of reach.

Hannibal leans back on one arm so he can put some more power behind the thrusts, shallow and quick now, and Will stares in bewilderment at where his cock is being swallowed, the way he’s biting his lip a telltale sign of how close Will is, too. His hand is a blur against Hannibal’s dicklit, faltering only when his own orgasm starts looming over him.

It may not be the right move to dissuade Will, but Hannibal brings his hand up to Will’s neck anyway, a light grip enough to alert the younger man, eyes guiltily snapping up to Hannibal’s face from where he’d been staring at his greedy cunt.

‘Not yet,’ Hannibal growls lowly – sounding more like a threat than a command – quickening his pace; it feels more like a race now, and he refuses to lose.

Will moans and digs his nails into Hannibal’s back to pull their waists infinitely closer, biting his lip as he tries to stave off his own orgasm in favour of bringing Hannibal to his. He takes deep, evening breaths to steady himself, moving his hand from Hannibal’s cunt to his own cock to squeeze the base in hopes of prolonging his climax. Hannibal watches him as he gasps pathetically, Will’s bloody mouth falling open in a groan when Hannibal doesn’t let up, riding down into his lap and tensing his cunt. Will’s eyes are wide and eager, always up for a challenge.

Hannibal likes him best like this, bloody and raw and all reckless abandon, focused solely on how best to please Hannibal. He pushes his throat into Hannibal’s hand, helps Hannibal move by holding one sharp hip, pushes his thumb into Hannibal’s dicklet so that he gets to fuck down on Will’s cock and grind up into his hand with every stroke up.

He’s so close, everything is so hot, and Will looks so good , but Hannibal wants more . He tightens his hold on Will’s neck and watches him struggle to breathe, his grip on Hannibal’s waist frantic now. He feels desperate all over, eyes staring up at Hannibal as if reverent.

‘Will,’ Hannibal growls and at the same time releases his hold slightly, revelling in the way Will gasps for air, ‘You’re mine ,’ he licks at the bloody hollow of Will’s throat, shudders at the coppery taste and the way Will trembles in his hands, ‘I’m going to mark you like a dog marks its territory.’

Hannibal knows he doesn’t have to ask. After all, did Will not beg him to take? But it’s out of respect and acknowledgement to their partnership that he wants to offer Will an out. He already knows Will won’t want out – Will is just like this now, always there , right besides Hannibal matching him step by step as they explore the lengths the other’s dedication goes to; they have yet to reach a limit, and Hannibal wonders if perhaps they just never will, forever devoted to the other’s wishes – but when their eyes meet and he sees himself reflected there it still feels like coming home. Hannibal imagines no greater paradise than to be seen by Will, and he will give anything to have Will forever.

‘ Please ,’ Will gasps, presses a sloppy and careless kiss to Hannibal’s lips and then moans, the look of determination on his face conveying that he is already prepared for whatever is coming, that he wants to follow wherever Hannibal takes him, ‘ Please, Hannibal .’

Once more Hannibal tightens his hold around Will’s frail throat. He forces his quivering thighs to keep their momentum, prepared for the way Will’s body shivers as his breath is taken. He keeps his grip secure, even as Will’s figure sort of spasms in protest, his hands shooting up to claw at Hannibal’s arms in some pure animalistic instinct for survival. He loses the fight, but Hannibal acknowledges that it’s because even the animal inside him knows he doesn’t really want to win, Will’s cock hard as ever and his eyes gone all the way black in excitement, mouth red and open as he desperately tries to gulp for air.

Hannibal bites down on his own lip, draws blood and savours it on his tongue, and when he relinquishes his hold and Will gasps for breath, gurgling and spluttering, he presses their mouths together, feeding Will himself in the only way he knows how.

Will’s breathing is laboured, coughing and spluttering and gasping into the kiss, into Hannibal’s mouth, but when they part he licks his lips and rushes in for more – his larynx must be aching , and his body must be sore, but he kisses Hannibal as if the very act of worshipping the older man will vindicate him, as if drinking down enough of Hannibal’s very essence will grant them eternity together.

Hannibal bobs down on Will’s cock, again and again, and Will sits back and takes it, dazed and enamoured as he watches Hannibal swallowing him whole. His face is bloody and his hair is wild and Hannibal thinks he’s never been more beautiful than he is now, aglow in the dim room.

Will’s body is still shaky and his breathing is laboured, but he’s chanting Hannibal’s name, low underneath his breath, like he’s praying to the only god he knows. With his arm tight around Hannibal’s lower back, keeping their bodies close and warm, he brings his shaking hand between their bodies, all-too-gently stroking Hannibal’s folds to further encourage him. Hannibal gasps, leans back to support himself on his arms so that he can put more force behind his thrusts, and when Will’s fingers start rubbing across his dicklet almost desperately, Will finally gets Hannibal to cum on his cock, Will’s name on his lips as the orgasm crashes through him like a tidal wave.

Will’s cock feels impossibly big as Hannibal’s cunt clenches around it, and the ride is so tight Hannibal thinks he might chafe, but then he feels so good and he just lets go and then he’s pissing himself, the hot spray gushing across Will’s thighs and cock and Will goes wild with it, cries, ‘ don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t—’ and then he’s cumming too, hands clamping around Hannibal’s waist so he can fuck him through his climax, pushing his seed into the soppy, wet hole as they shake together.

Hannibal thinks it may be too much now, his own cunt spasming around Will and Will spasming inside and their body is one and hot and they stink of piss and blood and cum and it’s perfect .

Will continues fucking into Hannibal even after he’s been spent, determined to see Hannibal’s orgasm through, to feel the man’s spasms die down on his dick. Hannibal’s riding lazily now, cunt twitching, and as Will’s cockhead pushes inside of him he feels the desperate last clenches of his orgasm and shudders, pressing their waists flush together.

He feels overly sensitive now, his cunt plump and abused and Will’s length softening inside of him. His whole body feels on fire and the piss is sticking uncomfortably to his skin.

If he had been worried Will would be displeased, his worry proves mute as Will pulls him up into a shaky embrace and kisses him, all hunger and teeth.

‘That was beautiful,’ Will rasps, his throat obviously sore, ‘I love you, Hannibal, so much.’

Hannibal presses gentle kisses to Will’s neck, lazily dragging his tongue across the wounds he left there. Will’s hands are still hopelessly trying to keep their waists mushed together, even though his prick is softening and threatening to spill out. When Hannibal even attempts to get off Will, the younger man shakes his head, ‘ no ,’ he begs, and ‘I want to live inside you.’ and ‘please, stay.’

It’s not in Hannibal’s nature to lie to himself. He’s uncomfortable, but with Will’s arms around him and those auburn curls tickling his neck, he has to admit he doesn’t really want to leave, either. He threads his fingers through Will’s brackish hair and allows him to mush them together in a sticky bear hug, allows Will to rest his head and slumber lightly, lips firm against Hannibal’s neck.

When after a few blissful minutes the sensation of the cold and drying piss becomes too annoying to ignore, Hannibal carefully tilts his waist this way and that. Will immediately wakes, lightening his grip around Hannibal’s waist and curiously brings one thumb to Hannibal’s dicklet. As Hannibal cants his hips and lets Will’s limp dick fall from his body, Will’s thumb pushes his folds apart so that he can watch.

His dick is filthy with Hannibal’s wetness and urine and his own seed and Hannibal imagines his cunt is equally dirty. Will however, licks his lips greedily as some of the mess spills from his gaping hole, and lets his thumb scoop it back up and push it back in, earning a rather helpless moan from his lover. Will’s eyes are clear, sparkling mischievous hues of blue, and he licks his lips again before carefully but sternly lifting Hannibal off his body and onto the bed. Hannibal allows him to do so, curious as to what the younger man is up to, and he lays back with a sigh, more than pleased at Will’s performance and the immense satisfaction that is spreading throughout his tired limbs.

Hannibal wonders idly if Will has managed to put him right in the middle of the wet spot and then startles when he pushes himself up by his elbows – wanting to carefully avoid the puddle of pee – and gets up just in time to see Will bury his face between his thighs.

Will drinks from Hannibal’s cunt as if he’s been denied a delicacy, flattening his tongue across Hannibal’s soaking folds and licking the piss off. He opens them up using two fingers and then licks right into Hannibal’s cunt and across his urethra, wriggling his tongue so he can clean his lover, even on the inside, the sound wet and slurping. He fucks Hannibal almost sleepily, but thoroughly, the movements of his mouth languid as he eats Hannibal out properly.

There’s that familiar spark of arousal, but Hannibal is too fucked out to really chase it. He can tell Will too, is exhausted, after a long night out and an even longer night in, and they’re nowhere near ready for bed yet.

The mop of curls moves from between his legs, and Will presses soft kisses to his dicklit, and then his Venus hill, and then below his navel. When their eyes meet Hannibal gets to watch Will’s lips curl into a silly smile, his features relaxed and looking immensely pleased.

Hannibal strokes his fingers through Will’s hair, pushing the sticky curls from his forehead. Will makes quite the sight in his post-coital glow, and looks about ready to fall asleep with his head smothered between Hannibal’s thighs.

‘My dear Will,’ Hannibal lets his fingers roam, admiring the bleeding bite mark he left on the younger man’s throat with the tips of his digits, ‘How about I draw us a bath and call housekeeping, and you can tell me all about your dogs while I wash your hair?’

Will’s eyes light up. Hannibal doesn’t need him to say anything for him to know the answer.

‘Hannibal, I—’ Will starts to talk and then stops, looking for words. Hannibal encourages him by trailing his fingers down Will’s nape. ‘If it’s not like this—’ Will slides his hand up Hannibal’s tummy, eventually finding a home in Hannibal’s chest hair. ‘I mean, all of you, all the time, then I don’t want it. You’re beautiful.’

Hannibal knows love is not an emotion. But the way Will puts to words what they both already know, just because he wants Hannibal to hear it spoken out loud, makes him feel a whole myriad of things that Hannibal is quite sure, make up what love is.

***