Chapter Text
October 1st: Pumpkin Spice and Temperature Play
Will carefully sank into the driver’s seat of the Volvo with a cardboard beverage carrier, then slid the paper coffee cups into the drink holders. Max butted his head in between the two front seats, sniffing at them. “Back off,” Will warned, and the dog retreated, plopping down next to Buster and Winston who had come along for the hour-round-trip drive to Kaldi’s Kup, the only coffee shop in the world that Hannibal thought made coffee just as well as he did. It was a sunny Sunday morning, and Will had gotten up early to go fetch his husband a treat. It was also a teeny little bit of an “I’m sorry” peace offering for getting cum on the leather interior of the Bentley last weekend the day after Hannibal’d had it detailed. A little road head that went awry when Hannibal went over an unexpected bump just as he blew his load into Will’s mouth, and Will didn’t time the swallow right.
It was October, and all of the storefronts he passed were decorated with pumpkins and corn stalks and garlands of plastic fall leaves. He had his pumpkin spice latte and was all ready for the cozy changing of the seasons.
There was one problem, however.
For some reason – probably climate change – it was 85 fucking degrees today.
Will rolled the windows down just enough for the dogs to stick their snouts out, and then had to blast the air conditioner to keep from sweating through his tee-shirt. It made it easy to resist the temptation to drink some of his latte on the way home.
When he arrived back at the acreage, Will let the dogs out of the car, then went inside with the drinks. He found an egg bake in the oven and Hannibal on the deck, lounging in a white silk robe and matching silky underwear, one of the pairs that Will loved. “Hey, sexy,” Will greeted, sitting down next to him on the two-person wicker lounge. “Brought you something.”
He handed Hannibal his latte. “From Kaldi’s?” Hannibal asked cautiously.
“No, it’s from Starbucks,” Will said with a sarcastic eye-roll.
Hannibal hesitated.
“Of course it’s from Kaldi’s, I’m not trying to poison you,” Will chided, taking a sip of his. “Mmm. Pumpkin spice season is upon us.”
Hannibal took a sip and made an appreciative sound of his own, putting his arm around Will. “You’re rather… damp already,” he teased, taking another drink.
Will took one as well, and the hot beverage only served to make him perspire more. “Goddamn it,” he grumbled. “What’s with this weather? Summer can quit it any time – I’m tired of… sweating my balls off every damn day. It’s ruining my pumpkin spice, ah… vibes or whatever they call it.”
“What a mood,” Hannibal said, so seriously that Will burst out laughing, so loud and raucous that Buster came charging up the deck stairs in case something was wrong.
“Big mood,” Will agreed, wiping his eyes.
“I think I have something that could help. A spell I’ve been working on.” Ever since Will had been threatened by supernatural attacks last year and Hannibal had to find his great grandmother’s grimoire in order to protect him, Hannibal had been embracing his witchy heritage.
“You can control the weather?” Will asked excitedly.
“Alas, not yet. But I think you’ll enjoy this. Come inside.”
Will followed him in, carrying his coffee cup. They went through the dining room and down the hall to their bedroom, where the bed was neatly made as Hannibal insisted upon each morning. They set their coffees on coasters next to the bed, and Hannibal unlocked a dresser drawer where he kept his grandmother’s Book of Shadows.
“Take your clothes off for me, beloved,” Hannibal requested as he withdrew the book.
“Oh, it’s a sex thing,” Will said with a licentious grin. “Okay, I like where this is going. So, you want me to, ah…”
“Take off your sweaty clothes, yes. I’d do it myself, but I need to concentrate.”
“I’m, uhm… intrigued,” Will admitted, sliding off his shirt. He kicked off his shoes and wriggled out of his jeans as Hannibal flipped pages, and then began to read softly under his breath. Will felt the hairs on his arms stand up as the power gathered in the room. Hannibal held up his right hand and whispered to it in the ancient language the book was written in, and then closed the tome, sliding it back into the drawer.
“That’s it?” Will asked skeptically, hooking a thumb in his boxer waistband.
“Lay down,” Hannibal commanded, shrugging off his robe.
Will slid back on the bed, curling an arm behind his head.
“Are you ready?” Hannibal knelt over him, sitting on his hips.
Will nodded. It was hard to tell in the intimate lighting, but Hannibal’s hand looked whiter than it usually did, as if the blood had drained out or–
Hannibal rested his hand on Will’s chest, caressing along his clavicle.
“Aaah!” Will yelped, instinctively gripping Hannibal’s wrist and pushing his hand away. “What the–” Hannibal’s hand had felt like it was made of solid ice, without the wetness of frozen water melting against his skin.
“You complained about the heat,” Hannibal reminded him in a mildly disapproving tone. “This will help. Are you going to behave?”
“That depends where you’re gonna stick that thing.”
“Then strap yourself in, please.”
“Seriously?” Will pretended to complain, but his goosebumps weren’t just a result of the cold touch. He pulled the cuffs from where they were hidden behind the pillows, the delicate chains snaking up from the bedframe below. He strapped himself into one, then slid his other wrist in and let Hannibal tighten it with his non-magically-frozen hand.
“There.” Hannibal settled on his hips again, and rocked gently for a moment, letting his silk-clad bulge and ass rub against Will’s cock as a reward for compliance. “Now, where were we?” He leaned forward and ran his freezing fingertips along Will’s clavicle, then trailed it up to his neck. Will winced, sucking in a breath, when he gently wrapped his hand around Will’s throat, the thumb pressing into the sensitive spot where the underside of his chin met his neck. Somehow, he was sweating and freezing at the same time in different places on his body as the blood rushed down to his cock.
Hannibal let go of his neck and bent in, propping himself up on the bed with his non-magicked-hand, and traced his fingers over Will’s lips, cooling them instantly. He then reheated them with a searing kiss, turning cold to hot with his plush lips and bossy tongue. While his mouth worked, he touched the shell of Will’s ear and caressed the lobe, which made Will yank on the restraints and shiver up into the kiss.
His witchy husband’s eyes were glowing with their signature magickal light when Hannibal pulled back to gaze down at him. Will was captivated by the undulating preternatural flames in his irises, enough that he didn’t register what Hannibal was doing before it happened. “Oh fuck…!” he barked as Hannibal’s cold hand brushed over his peaked nipple, trapping it between his first two fingers and teasing it with cold and constriction. He rolled it with the pad of his thumb, then leaned in to envelop it in his mouth, warming it suddenly with his tongue. The sharp change caused Will’s cock to swell up, bumping insistently against Hannibal’s silk-clad backside as he endured the torture, cords standing out in his forearms as he flexed against the restraints.
“What was it you once said?” Hannibal asked pleasantly as he slowly slid down Will’s body, positioning himself between his spread legs. “Cold hands, warm cock?”
“Heart,” Will corrected. “Wait, maybe it is cock– holy shit!” He shivered as Hannibal pressed his freezing hand against Will’s inner thigh, sliding it up towards his crotch at a maddeningly slow pace. Those frigid fingers traced along the seam of his crack, rasping softly against the hairs there before drawing behind his balls, the thumb pressing gently but icily between them. Will bit his lip and sucked in a breath through his nose. This was a brief visit, thankfully, but Hannibal’s next move was to tease the underside of his cock up to the head. Will shivered, an involuntary, violent motion, straining in his cuffs.
Hannibal closed his hand around Will’s length, and Will winced, waiting for him to constrict and actually stroke with his freezing palm. But his husband had mercy on him, and leaned in, taking Will’s cock into his mouth instead. The sudden switch from cold to warm was intense, hard to say if it was pleasurably or not. But within a few seconds, he warmed up to his husband, so to speak, and Hannibal went to work with his practiced methods of suction and tongue action. Will trembled at the edge of release, shivering as Hannibal’s cold hand ran up and down his chest and down the outside of his thigh. Then there was only searing heat as he came, yanking on the cuffs and arching his back with a heady moan.
Hannibal murmured a few more words in the strange language, and the glow fled from his eyes, leaving them their natural warm amber. He unstrapped Will from his restraints and gave him a nice, warm kiss.
After a few minutes of shared body heat and slowing his heart rate, Will slid away and lifted Hannibal’s hands to strap him into the cuffs for a turn. “I got you something else pumpkin spicy,” he revealed, then used his teeth to pull down Hannibal’s silky white briefs. “And it’s something we can enjoy no matter how hot it is. The, ah… hotter the better, in this case.”
“Oh? What’s that?” Hannibal watched with his usual calm interest as Will got up and retrieved his pants. From within the front pocket he produced a small vial of lube decorated with little glittery orange pumpkins. Hannibal chuckled as Will opened it and dumped some into his hand, warming it up before stroking his husband’s cock into fullness and anointing his crevice as well. He lifted Hannibal’s swim-hardened thighs, bending his legs back, and went to town on his asshole, licking gently at first but then with more force, using the end of his tongue to trace letters and numbers over the puckered opening. Pumpkin spice Hannibal was pretty damn delicious, especially when he moved on to the main course, which came topped with cream.
Later, when the pumpkin spice lattes and lube were gone and they were in the kitchen making lunch, Hannibal asked, “Have you seen the forecast?”
“No, is it good news?” Will asked, peeling a sweet potato.
“Tomorrow’s high is 67 degrees fahrenheit,” Hannibal told him.
“Oh, HELL yeah,” was Will’s response.