Archive of Our Own ^beta

The wine gleamed ruby-red in the dim light of Hannibal’s office, the liquid swirling lazily in Will’s glass. He had barely touched it, though Hannibal had poured it with his usual flair. 

They had been discussing Mason Verger and their own tug of war game led by curiosity around said man.

— Mason is discourteous. And discourtesy is unspeakably ugly to me. 

Will leaned back in his chair, hand holding the glass of wine. — Are you thinking about ... eating him? — A faint smirk on his face as his voice was laced with amusement. 

He knew Mason was the perfect specimen for Hannibal’s particular form of ... justice, and for Will, a potential opportunity to finally corner the Chesapeake Ripper. That was why he was subtly encouraging Hannibal toward the idea, wasn’t it? Yet, deep down, Will was aware that relying on the Mason Verger situation to catch Hannibal was a fool’s errand. The man was too intelligent, too meticulous, to leave any thread loose. Hannibal could orchestrate every move, pull every string, and slip away unscathed, as he always does. Will must find another way.

Hannibal mirrored WIll’s smirk, his eyes gleaming with quiet amusement as he held Will’s gaze. —  Whenever feasible, one should always try to eat the rude . 

Will studied him carefully, his smirk lingering. A thought, one that had drifted in and out of his mind before, surfaced again with renewed clarity. Dr. Chilton had once asked him why Hannibal hadn't killed him yet, since it isn’t new news that Will is not exactly a courteous person. Will’s response at the time had been simple:  "Because he wants to be my friend".  But he knows that this isn't the real reason. Friendship, as we know it, couldn't exist outside the gravitational pull of Hannibal’s ego. If you are of any use to him, he keeps you by his side, until he no longer does.

Where, if anywhere, did Hannibal draw the line with him then? Will didn’t know where this line of thinking was leading him, but he was curious now.

— That's your creed, isn’t it?. — Will’s voice turned quiet, almost contemplative. — Rudeness as justification for murder, for cannibalism. 

— Rudeness is a social blight, — Hannibal replied smoothly, as though reciting a truth carved into stone — one I happen to be equipped to address. 

— That makes me wonder, Hannibal .... why am I still here?. — The words carrying both curiosity and accusation.

Hannibal froze for half a second, barely perceptible, but Will caught it. Then, the doctor offered him a polite smile, calm and practiced. — You're my friend, Will.

Will huffed a dry laugh. — We both know that being your “friend” or not is irrelevant when it comes to earning an exemption.

The accusation hung in the air. Will's face was painted with a grimace of fake amusement and grumpiness. A grimace that said "I have explicitly asked you not to lie to me". 

Hannibal regarded him with a studied expression, reading the unspoken. Will Graham was quite an expressive person, his emotions often laid bare in the shifts of his features, a trait the older man could read better than anyone else. Hannibal’s mask slipped just enough to reveal a fleeting glimpse of the truth beneath. — I recall your behavior, Will, I’ve been put in danger more than once because of that … However, your rudeness is... different. A defense mechanism, not a flaw. It intrigues me.

Will’s jaw tightened. He got something, but still a vague answer, nothing he doesn't already know. It was clear to Will that asking nicely wouldn’t lead him anywhere. Yet forcing the truth to come out might also unleash the monster inside. And while that was dangerous, it might also be exactly what he needed to finally catch the Chesapeake Ripper. He wasn’t sure how just yet, but maybe it was time to prove to the man in front of him and himself, once again, just how unpredictable he could be.

A question popped in his head one more time. 

Where, if anywhere, did Hannibal draw the line with him? 

To find out, Will knew he’d need to push, even if the line he was standing in was perilously unclear. If he crossed it and Hannibal lashed out, tried to kill him here and now, it would be reckless … and reckless meant sloppy. Sloppy meant evidence. Proof.  

It was a gamble, but Will was no stranger to risk.

Will stood, wine glass in his hand, his movements deliberate as he approached the stove, where the flames continued to sizzle softly. The flickering firelight bathed him in a warm, golden glow, a striking contrast to the dim intimacy of the office. 

From his seat, Hannibal’s gaze lingered on Will’s back, unblinking, as if trying to unravel the puzzle of Will’s movements.. Where was this conversation leading? 

— You know — Will began, his back still turned — I don’t think you’re being entirely  honest with me.  

— I am always honest with you, Will — Hannibal said, his voice like silk. 

Will turned with a sly, mischievous smile curling at the corners of his lips, his movements deliberate as he began pacing the room. His steps carried him slowly, purposefully, toward the man seated in the armchair. Hannibal’s eyes remained fixed on him, curious, expectant, and unnervingly focused. The intensity of that gaze was almost exasperating, yet Will’s smile refused to falter.

When he reached Hannibal’s side, he stopped. Their eyes locked and Hannibal’s expression, calm and faintly amused, seemed to dare Will further. Oh, how much he wanted to twist that amusement into rage, into something raw.

Will swirled the wine in his glass before taking a long, slow and deliberate sip, the tip of his  tongue darting out to capture a stray drop from his lower lip. He didn’t miss the way Hannibal’s eyes tracked the movement, a flicker of intent beneath his composed facade. 

With an almost careless motion, he tilted his wrist just enough for the liquid to spill. The dark red wine splattered across Hannibal’s cafe noir suit jacket, a vivid stain blooming against the dark fabric.

The room went deathly still.

The tension was now almost palpable, thick and electric, as they faced each other. Hannibal’s gaze flicked to the stain on his jacket, then back to Will. His face remained calm, but his eyes… Those golden depths seemed to flicker with a smoldering heat, hints of red glinting like embers on the verge of ignition, waiting for the slightest spark to erupt into flames.

— Clumsy of me — Will said, his tone utterly devoid of sincerity, a faint smirk teasing at the edges of his mouth.

Hannibal reached for a napkin from his pocket with meticulous grace, dabbing at the stain. — Accidents happen, — he said softly, though his tone betrayed a hint of something darker. Shrugging off the jacket, he folded it neatly over the armchair, revealing a crisp white shirt,  a matching waistcoat and a dark blue patterned tie beneath. 

Hannibal’s lips curved into a faint, sardonic smile. — It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve encountered a difficult stain on my clothes. — The words carried a loaded undertone, twisting the moment to bind Will inescapably to his sins. A subtle reminder.

The comment struck a nerve, twisting Will’s smirk into a grimace. He wanted to peel back that perfect facade. With a second deliberate motion, his wrist tilted again, threatening to spill the crimson liquid once more.

But before the wine could reach the Persian rug beneath them, a hand, swift and unyielding, clamped around his wrist. Firm, almost bruising. Hannibal’s grip stilled the motion instantly, and the room seemed to shrink around them. 

The pulse in Hannibal’s neck tightened, drawing Will’s gaze. He wet his lower lip, unconsciously. 

His gaze lingered, catching the ember in Hannibal's eyes again, flickering like a monster pressing against the walls of its cage, desperate to break free. Will wanted to see it, wanted to unleash it. 

— May I ask, — Hannibal began, his tone was calm, but the grip on his wrist was a warning. — why would you do that, Will?.

— Maybe I just felt like being rude. — Will replied bluntly

— Well, that was indeed terribly rude, Will. — Hannibal set Will's glass down on the small table beside the armchair. The movement broke their eye contact, and Will felt a sudden, inexplicable emptiness. Hannibal’s gaze was suffocating, and yet he wanted to drown in it, to let it pull him right into hell. — What's to be done about that? — he added, finding Will’s gaze again.

The tension between them crackled like a live wire. Will didn't know if it was for the sudden long sip of wine but he felt like he was being burned alive. Hannibal's words were loaded with suggestion he wasn't prepared to process yet, and for a moment, Will felt unmoored, unsure of whether he was the predator or the prey.

What was he doing? He was acting so childish. 

Was he really thinking Hannibal would be so reckless to attempt on his life just because of a little stain of wine in his jacket and Persian rug? Maybe if he was any other person than Will Graham. Was he overestimating Hannibal? No. Will had known from the start that this plan was juvenile at best. Perhaps … Will was enjoying this.

Will shrugged, feigning nonchalance. If Hannibal wanted to play, he will play. — What's to be done about that, indeed? . — He stepped closer, positioning himself directly in front of the seated man, his knees brushing Hannibal's, almost forcing his legs apart. He stared down with defiance. — Or is it that you’re afraid of me, now that there’s someone who understands you enough to anticipate you?.

Hannibal’s loaded gaze sent a thrill down his spine. Will’s own words were hollow; he knew better than anyone that no one could truly anticipate Hannibal. You can’t script a hurricane. Yet something about standing there, forcing Hannibal to look up at him from such a submissive angle, filled him with a dark, intoxicating sense of power.

— Do not mistake my restraint for fear, Will. — Hannibal said, his voice quiet but heavy with warning.

Will’s pulse quickened, but he refused to look away. Fear mingled with a perverse excitement. —  Then why am I not being chopped in pieces and turned into a fancy meal right now … — He leaned in further, goading him. — ready for you to eat me, Hannibal?.

Hannibal rose from the chair, the motion unhurried yet menacing. His towering presence is suddenly looming, forcing Will to instinctively step back. A faint smirk played on Hannibal's lips as he closed the distance, his voice low. — Is that what you want, Will?.  

Will’s breath hitched, his throat tightening as well as his pants. The question carried weight, more suggestion than threat. His own blurred morality, the ease with which he crossed these lines, still managed to surprise him. When he thought he couldn’t descend further, he discovered new depths to his darkness.

He smirked, forcing composure. — So you’ve thought about it, then?.

Hannibal stepped closer — Do you think I have not envisioned every possible outcome with you, Will? Every permutation of our relationship? Including this one?. 

Will’s breath caught, but he refused to back down. — And what outcome do you prefer?.

— The one where you remain alive. — Hannibal replied, his voice soft but charged. — Otherwise, I would lose the opportunity to savor the complexity of your mind. Your unpredictability… — His lips curled into a faint smile. — Occasionally straying into rudeness, I might add, is nothing less than an invitation to understand you.

At that moment, the realization settled over Will like a dark cloud, they weren’t so different after all, deep down, they both craved the same thing. Understanding each other’s minds. Hannibal was moved by curiosity and Will by unpredictability. A perfect neverending match. A volatile match, he might add. — You must wonder then, how far I’m willing to go before you push back. — Will said, his voice unsteady but threaded with defiance.

Will appeared to be right, as the mask Hannibal wore seemed to slip away entirely in an instant. His gaze sharpened, honed like a blade poised to strike, the faint pulse of a vein in his neck and the danger radiating from his posture and every controlled movement, a silent warning of just how effortlessly he could snap Will's neck if he chose to. 

Will carried a pocket knife, just in case, discreetly tucked into sock garters, an unfamiliar accessory, but undeniably practical for concealing a weapon. He realized he might have underestimated both Hannibal’s control, and the terrifying depths of his strength. How naive to think a pocket knife would be enough to make it out alive from him.  

Will straightened, forcing himself to remain composed despite the roaring in his chest. — Maybe that’s … what I also wanted. To see how far you’d let me go before you showed me the truth. 

Hannibal’s lips curved into an enigmatic smile. — And what truth have you discovered?  

Will met his gaze, the tension between them wound taut like a wire ready to snap. — That I’m still alive. For now.

He stepped back, but Hannibal followed, each movement predatory. — You’re playing a dangerous game, Will. — Hannibal warned, his tone a mix of menace and dark allure.

Will’s lips quirked into a faint, playful smile. In a swift, fluid motion, he pulled the pocket knife from his sock garters and leveled it at the man before him, the blade gleaming with quiet defiance. His posture exuded a challenge, his voice laced with a subtle taunt. — Aren’t we both?. — Will had realized that the knife in his hand posed little real threat to Hannibal but Hannibal was a man of spectacles and if Will wanted to provoke him, he would need to match that energy, give the man a show worthy of his attention.

Hannibal’s body shifted instinctively at the sudden movement, his steps precise as he drew back just enough to gauge the threat. His reflexes, honed to perfection, could have disarmed Will in an instant—he’d done it to countless men and women in the past. Yet there was no immediate move to strike, only the glint of intrigue in his eyes. Will’s unpredictability had become irresistible to him, and Hannibal was curious to see how the game would unfold. 

The tension in the room thickened, wrapping around them like smoke. Hannibal stepped close, so close that the blade of Will’s knife hovered just shy of his neck. Will’s pulse thrummed in his ears, a steady drumbeat of fear and exhilaration. He could slice that elegant neck in an instant, yet somehow, it felt as though he were the one standing at the edge of a blade.

He had never felt so alive.

— You’re trembling,— Hannibal said, his voice low and silken, each word caressing the space between them.  

— I’m not trembling,— Will lied, his voice steadier than he expected. Will could feel the faint heat radiating from Hannibal, the scent of his cologne, earthy, dark, and subtle, filling his senses.  

Hannibal’s lips curled into a faint, knowing smile. —You are. I can see it.

Will didn’t move, didn’t flinch, but his breathing betrayed him, shallow, quick, like prey trying to calm itself in the presence of a predator. Hannibal tilted his head, studying him with the same detached curiosity he reserved for a particularly intricate piece of art.  

— You provoke me, yet here you are, shivering like a lamb with a wolf at its throat,— Hannibal murmured, his voice almost gentle but teasing. — Is it bravery, Will? Or something else?.

Will swallowed hard, his throat tight. — I want to know … where the line is.  

Hannibal stepped closer still, so close that the sharp edge of the blade grazed his skin (a spot safely distant from his trachea and arteries), drawing a tiny bead of blood that traced a crimson line down his neck. Fuck, how many nights had Will dreamed of slicing deeper, of letting Hannibal’s blood spill and stain his own skin with scarlet artistry. —  And if you cross it? — Hannibal asked.

Will held his gaze, though his knees felt weak. — Then I’ll deal with the consequences.

Hannibal’s smile widened, his eyes gleaming with something primal and electric. The doctor  reached out,, careful not to move his neck, his hand brushing against Will’s extended arm, a touch so light it was almost imperceptible, yet it sent a shiver down Will’s spine.  

— Tell me, Will,— Hannibal said, his voice dropping to a whisper. — What are you feeling right now? 

Will’s jaw tightened. — I’m not afraid of you.

Another lie.  

— Are you trying to deceive me, Will, or yourself? — Hannibal’s fingers trailed up Will’s arm, slow and deliberate, the touch both intimate and invasive. — Fear and excitement often travel hand in hand, — Hannibal said, his tone almost clinical. In a swift, sudden motion, he seized Will’s wrist with an iron grip, compelling the blade to press slightly deeper, carving another crimson line across his skin. — Do you feel it? The thrill of standing so close to the edge? 

Will’s breath hitched, and Hannibal’s smile grew. — Ah, there it is. You do feel it. 

Will’s hand fell to his side, releasing Hannibal’s neck as the knife clattered to the ground, forgotten. His emotions surged, a volatile mix of fury and excitement that left his chest tight and his mind ablaze. He loathed the way his own darkness felt so tangible, hated how Hannibal had been right about it all along. Fueled by that hatred and something far more primal, Will stepped forward, seizing Hannibal by the lapels of his waistcoat with a ferocious grip. With a sudden, forceful motion, he drove Hannibal to the floor, straddling him in an instant. It was almost too easy, perhaps because Hannibal allowed it, the faintest flicker of amusement glinting in his gaze. 

— You’re enjoying this. 

— Of course, — Hannibal said smoothly, his gaze dipping ever so subtly toward Will’s pants before meeting his eyes again. — And so are you. 

Will’s cheeks turned red and his pants tightened even more at the bold accusation, but his eyes flashed with defiance. — You think you know me.

— I do know you,— Hannibal replied, his voice soft but firm. — Better than you know yourself. 

The words hit Will like a punch to the gut, not because they were untrue, but because he knew they weren’t. 

— You push me to see how far I’ll let you go,— Hannibal continued, his fingers brushing up to Will’s shoulder now, his touch lingering. — But you underestimate how deeply I wish to see the same in you, Will. 

Will’s breathing quickened, and he hated himself for it. He hated the heat rising in his cheeks, the way his body betrayed him under Hannibal’s scrutiny. 

Hannibal seized Will’s shirt in a swift motion, pulling him forward until their faces were mere inches apart. The sudden motion sent Will off balance, forcing him to lean in with his hands braced against the floor on either side of Hannibal. His breath hitched as Hannibal leaned closer, his lips hovering tantalizingly near Will’s ear. — It seems that you also enjoy looking down on me. Does it make you feel powerful, Will? — He wet his lips briefly, as if savoring the tension between them.— Go on. Punch me, if that’s what you desire. Let my lips bleed for you.  

Will froze, caught off guard, the words caught in his throat. He could feel Hannibal’s breath, warm against his skin, and it sent a jolt of something electric through him.  

But Will didn’t speak. 

Hannibal leaned back just enough to meet his gaze, his eyes studying Will’s expression with a predator’s patience. Seconds passed, heavy with unspoken words, as the fire in Will’s eyes burned brighter than anything his lips could say. The silence emboldened Hannibal. He pulled Will closer, closing the distance entirely, and his tongue traced the edge of Will’s ear, lingering on the lobe before whispering — Tell me to stop.

Will didn’t tell him to stop. Of course he will fucking not. Hannibal leaned back again on the floor and put his hands on Will’s nape, looking at him from below. He was enjoying that power game  too. Hannibal reached for Will’s face, his fingers brushing along his jawline, his touch both tender and commanding. — You’re trembling again— he said, his tone almost amused.  

Will’s lips parted, a retort on the tip of his tongue, but Hannibal silenced him, not with words, but with a deliberate brush of his thumb against Will’s lower lip.

The gesture was shocking in its intimacy, even more so than the brush of Hannibal’s tongue against his earlobe. Will felt his breath hitch again. Hannibal was the first person in, who knows how many years, that he had allowed to touch him so comfortably. Hands tracing over his own, on his shoulders, even resting against his face, those touches had become unsettlingly familiar.

But there were still places unexplored, boundaries untested. His mouth was one of them.

His instincts screamed at him to pull away, to regain control of the situation, but something stronger kept him rooted to the spot. It felt like he was the one being unraveled, piece by piece.  

— You wanted to test boundaries, — Hannibal murmured, his thumb still lingering on Will’s lip. — And you expected violence from me — The man said in a declarative statement and Will nodded, like a good boy , Hannibal thought. — But you must recall our conversation with Dr. Bloom; “crossing boundaries is different than violating them”. In our relationship, there’s always a mutual understanding of the lines we cross. So, what will you do when those boundaries finally vanish, Will?

Will stared at him, his mind racing. He felt like he was standing on the edge of a precipice, the ground crumbling beneath him. — I don’t know — Will admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

They were definitely crossing a line, but not the one Will had anticipated. This boundary, unexpected as it was, felt... compelling. Hannibal was testing him, probing how far Will would allow him to go. Will found himself curious about that too, drawn by the possibilities this uncharted line presented, possibilities of having Hannibal inside of him other than his mind. 

Was this always an option and he was only now realizing it?

Hannibal’s gaze softened, though the intensity in them remained. — Shall we find out together? — he murmured, his words more a statement than a question, as though he already knew Will’s answer. 

He didn’t wait for permission, he didn’t need to. Will’s expression betrayed him yet again. The space between them vanished in an instant, and Will felt his pulse quicken as Hannibal’s hand slipped to the back of his neck again, his grip firm forcing him to lean down. The tension between them, simmering for so long, finally reached its breaking point.  

And Will, against every instinct, didn’t pull away.

Will discovered that the blurring of his boundaries tasted like an aged rich wine, with notes of dark fruit and oak. Beneath that, a delicate spice of star anise, a subtle echo of Hannibal’s last meticulously prepared meal. 

Will didn’t have a refined palate, but the slide of Hannibal’s tongue against his seemed to awaken a primal need. He suddenly wanted to taste every inch of that mouth.

Hannibal’s hand on the back of his neck slid upward, tangling into his hair with a grip that sent shivers down Will’s spine. Will, despite his little power play of being over Hannibal, felt completely out of control. The hands in his hair could decide at any moment when the kiss would end.

As if sensing Will’s thoughts, Hannibal broke the kiss with a calculated movement, pulling back just enough for their lips to hover, barely touching. The pressure on his hair was deliberate, commanding but not harsh. Will moaned softly at the sudden lack of contact, the sound escaping involuntarily as a thin thread of saliva lingered between them.

Hannibal’s eyes opened, sharp and assessing, and the sight before him was nothing short of divine, a vision reserved for the most devout of believers. Will’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes still closed, and his lips parted, as if stubbornly refusing the loss of contact.

The aggressive movement beneath him drew Will’s attention, the friction between their crotchs suddenly impossible to ignore. His breath hitched as Hannibal’s teeth grazed his neck, followed by the wet heat of his tongue trailing across his skin. Will gasped, his eyes fluttering open, the tension mounting as Hannibal tightened his grip on his hair and pulled him closer.

Another boundary crossed. Another place Will was allowing Hannibal to touch. He closed his eyes again. — Fuck,—  he whispered hoarsely.

Hannibal’s lips moved to his earlobe, kissing it with maddening softness. — Still trembling— he whispered, his voice a dark purr, equal parts amused, aroused, and curious.

Will swallowed hard, his throat painfully dry. Somehow, he managed to summon a response, his tone laced with a feigned composure. — And you're still enjoying it.

— Of course I am — Hannibal whispered into his ear, without hesitation. Each word of Hannibal's voice, resonating in his ear, paired with the warm brush of breath against his neck, sent a shiver down Will's spine, like a jolt of electricity coursing through him.

Hannibal’s hands moved deliberately, grasping Will’s wrists and guiding his trembling hands from the floor to his chest, just above his pecs. An unspoken invitation to find balance in it and to his hands to explore beneath the remaining fabric that clung to their bodies.

For a moment, Will froze, caught off guard by the steady rhythm of Hannibal’s heartbeat beneath his fingers. That man truly had a heart capable of racing like this. He felt the heat radiating from Hannibal’s body, and when their gazes met, those amber eyes burned with an intensity of desire and hunger that Will had never seen directed at him before.

— You're still afraid, — Hannibal observed, his tone calm yet penetrating. — But not of me, are you?

Will’s lips curled into a faint, bitter smile. — I think I am. 

Hannibal gave the thought a second and refuted. — I think you're afraid of yourself. Of what you might discover if you stop running from what you truly want. 

Will's heart thundered in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears. He wanted to deny it, but the words wouldn't come. Hannibal was right, and they both knew it.

— Show me, Will — Hannibal whispered, taking Will’s hands and guiding them down the length of his torso. — Show me how much you want this.

Will wetted his lower lip, his own darkness creeping in, clouding his reasoning, or rather, sharpening it. His fingers moved of their own accord, undoing the buttons of Hannibal’s waistcoat and shirt with deliberate precision. Beneath the fabric was a chest and abdomen sculpted with quiet strength, dusted with a trail of hair that begged for exploration.

His hands pressed against Hannibal’s chest, his fingers digging slightly into the firm muscle, earning a low grunt from the man beneath him. Will’s breath hitched again as he realized Hannibal had also undone the buttons of his blue shirt, leaving his own chest bare. With a single fluid motion, he shrugged it off and let it fall carelessly to the floor. Hannibal didn’t seem to mind, in fact, he seemed utterly focused. His hands settled on Will’s hips before gliding upward over his bare abdomen. The coolness of Hannibal’s touch contrasted sharply with the heat radiating from Will’s body, sending a shiver coursing through him.

Will’s gaze bore down on Hannibal’s like twin daggers poised to strike flesh. There was an intensity, a sharpness in his eyes that hadn’t been there before, and Hannibal, with a deliberate flick of his tongue over his lips, felt a jolt of anticipation. Whatever had shifted in Will’s demeanor, he was eager to uncover it.  

— Sit, —Will commanded, his tone clipped and firm, as if addressing one of his dogs. Hannibal obeyed.

He braced himself on his elbows and straightened, aligning his torso with Will, who still straddled him. Their eyes locked, Hannibal’s unwavering, expectant.  

Will’s hands moved to Hannibal’s shoulders, steadying himself, and tugged at the fabric of Hannibal's open waistcoat and shirt . — Take it off,— he demanded, his voice firm, brooking no argument.  

Hannibal obeyed once more, mirroring Will’s earlier carelessness as he removed the garments and tossed them to the floor without breaking eye contact. 

—You told me to show you what I want. — Will shifted, positioning himself so that his bare pecs  brushed against Hannibal's face. His gaze, steady and piercing, bore down on the man who refused to look away. Hannibal’s eyes were a tempest of desire, amusement, and something akin to adoration. —This is what I want. Suck it.

And Hannibal complied. The older man’s hands settled on Will’s lower back, pulling him closer. His gaze never wavered, locked on Will’s eyes, and his tongue flicked out, grazing Will's right nipple with a deliberate, teasing lick. Will’s eyes narrowed at the wet sensation in that sensitive spot, a muffled sound escaping his throat. His hands, previously resting on Hannibal’s shoulders, slid upward to the back of his neck, fingers pressing firmly as if urging him closer, demanding deeper contact. 

Pleased with that expression, Hannibal brought his attention to the small pinkish peak, rubbing them with his lips. He started licking, sucking as his hands roamed Will's bareback.

— Don't hide your voice, Will. Don't hide from me. — He whispered against Will's skin, giving a small, light bite, causing Will to finally let out a moan. Hannibal's fingers on Will's back found their way into the beginning of Will's tight pants. — Loosen your belt. — He ordered, his voice had a deeper tone than normal, raspier, darker.

Will obeyed, reveling in that power dynamic where he could command just as easily as he could submit. Every interaction between him and Hannibal felt like a game of cat and mouse, the roles constantly shifting, leaving it unclear who was the cat and who was the mouse. 

His trembling hands moved to his crotch, which was pressing firmly against the other man's, just as hard as him. He undid his belt, and the moment of contact with the area released a sound from both their mouths.

— Good boy — Hannibal said with a hoarse voice. Will felt a violent tug in his crotch at those words. 

Hannibal's fingers, long and deft, quickly found their way into Will's pants, deliberately gripping his glutes with both precision and possessiveness. That exquisite ass, which he had fixated on during countless therapy sessions, was finally in his hands.

— Oh fuck — Will moaned at the sudden hold. His hands moved with desperate urgency to unbuckle Hannibal's belt. He was fucking eager now. He wanted, needed more.

Hannibal smiled against the skin of Will's nipple, which was already deepening into a darker hue, becoming more sensitive. — Patience. We'll get into that soon. — he whispered.

Once Hannibal’s belt was undone, Will’s composure sharpened into something feral and unrelenting. With one hand gripping Hannibal’s hair, he pulled firmly, forcing their eyes to lock. —To the chaise longue — he commanded, the words delivered with a calm edge that brooked no argument.

Hannibal’s lips twitched in faint amusement. — I don’t mind the floor,— he replied, his tone velvet and his mouth already seeking Will’s bruised nipple again. He assumed Will’s demand stemmed from a misplaced courtesy for his own refinement.

 Will’s hand tightened in response, drawing a guttural sound from Hannibal that was equal parts pain and delight. His dominance electrified Hannibal, who responded with an almost primal press of his fingers into Will’s buttocks flesh. How it turned him on, Will being demanding, taking control.

— But I do, — Will countered, his voice deeper now, a gravelly edge betraying his own growing arousal. He didn’t truly care about the floor, but something perverse in him wanted this there. He wanted the memory of this act stained onto the chaise longue, a place where his patients or Alana, or even Jack, might someday sit, oblivious to its history.

As Will stood, his eyes bore into Hannibal, an unspoken battle of dominance crackling between them. Hannibal hesitated for the briefest moment before standing, disappointment as he lost Will's contact against his body, against his hands. He moved toward the chaise with deliberate grace, his bare back a canvas of rippling muscle that momentarily stole Will’s breath.

Seated on the chaise, Hannibal’s piercing gaze fixed on Will, appraising. — Indulge me, Will, — he said softly, with a dangerous edge, — and undress for me.

Will obeyed, his movements slow and deliberate. First, he toed off his shoes, the sound of them hitting the floor punctuating the thick silence. Then, with a measured calm, he slid his pants and boxers down in one motion, leaving them discarded carelessly on the ground. The only items left were his black socks held in place by garters just below his knees, a detail that made Hannibal’s gaze linger with heightened interest.

Standing bare before Hannibal, Will felt a fleeting tug of shame somewhere deep within him, a distant echo of disgust at being naked and rock hard before the man who had manipulated him, broken him, and nearly driven him to madness. But that voice was silenced by the heat coursing through him. Instead, his stance was bold, his expression a tantalizing mix of defiance and desire.

Hannibal’s eyes drank in the sight before him. The younger man’s body flushed with arousal, the disheveled hair, the bruised nipples and the half-lidded eyes clouded with lust, was both exquisite and intoxicating. It was an image Hannibal vowed to etch permanently into his memory to draw in the future. — There’s lube in the desk drawer, —Hannibal murmured, his voice a low hum. — Fetch it for me, Will.

The command hung in the air, laden with intent. Will’s lips twitched into the faintest smirk before he turned, exposing his back to Hannibal as he moved toward the desk. Hannibal’s gaze followed the curve of his spine, the flex of muscle, and the subtle sway of his hips. The sight alone was enough to make his breath hitch. Simply perfect, he thought.

When Will paused at the drawer, his fingers hovering as though searching for something, Hannibal added, — I’m afraid I don’t have condoms, though.

Will glanced over his shoulder, an incredulous yet amused expression flashing across his face. — I can't believe you didn't anticipate this

— I will let your unpredictability justify my lack of foresight,— Hannibal replied smoothly, his lips curving into a subtle smile. — As I’ve told you, Will, I could never entirely predict you.

Will’s gaze lingered on him, unreadable and piercing, Hannibal feared it was doubt. — If you are not comfortable doing it without a condom you can tell me. We can give each other pleasure in a lot of other ways. 

Will closed the drawer with a soft click and returned, lube in hand. His expression softened, but his voice held its edge as he saw Hannibal's intent to keep clarifying. — I know you’re clean, — he said, cutting off Hannibal’s forthcoming reassurance. — Now shut up and take off your clothes.

Hannibal did not respond verbally, but his compliance was swift and deliberate. He removed his shoes first, then slid his dress pants and boxers down in one practiced motion. His movements were unhurried, calculated, and his eyes never left Will’s face. Hannibal reveled in the younger man’s gaze which was travelling down his body, pausing briefly at the sight of his cock, hard, large, eager.

Will’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, his attention now momentarily caught by the thin line of dried blood on Hannibal’s neck, a remnant of their earlier game. Inspiration struck. With a calculated air, Will placed the lube beside Hannibal and turned, retrieving the knife that had been left on the floor. He wiped the blade clean with a handkerchief from the desk, then straddled Hannibal with an intent that was impossible to misconstrue.

Hannibal groaned at the sensation of Will’s buttocks skin pressing against his thighs, their arousals meeting without barriers. Will’s lips curved into a satisfied smile at the sound, a predator reveling in the effect he had on his prey.

Without breaking eye contact, Will brought the knife to Hannibal’s neck, the cool metal grazing his skin. Hannibal’s breath hitched at the contrast of cold steel against his warmth, his body reacting instinctively.

— You don’t know how many times I’ve fantasized about cutting this from ear to ear,— Will murmured, his tone low and hoarse. The blade’s dull edge traced a deliberate line along Hannibal’s neck, mimicking the arc of a fatal cut. — Let your blood stain me crimson,— he continued, his tone dark with desire, — as though you were the masterpiece, and I the canvas meant to hold your essence.

Hannibal’s hands slid over Will’s back, settling firmly on his hips. His fingers pressed into the glute’s flesh with deliberate intent, anchoring Will in place as the younger man continued to trace the blade along his neck. — And yet, here you are, — Hannibal murmured, his voice smooth, though laced with tension, — choosing to leave me alive.

Will tilted his head, his lips curving into something dark and knowing. — I never said I wouldn’t draw blood.

He shifted the knife slightly, the sharp edge cutting just deep enough to release a bead of crimson that traced its way down Hannibal’s neck. The older man’s lips parted in a soft sigh, and his fingers tightened, his need evident in every controlled breath.

Will leaned in, his warm breath fanning over Hannibal’s skin before his tongue darted out to catch the blood. — A shame I can’t carve deeper without losing you,—  he whispered against his neck, his voice reverent.

Hannibal's cock moved against Will's, his grip on his hips grew firmer, their dicks trapped between their abdomens, their shared heat palpable. — You fantasize about killing me, Will,—  Hannibal said, his tone carrying no judgment, only fascination.

Will met his gaze, unwavering and unrepentant. — I fantasize about consuming you,— he admitted, the words a low growl. — Body and mind.

Hannibal’s breath quickened at the admission, his hands roaming lower, kneading the curve of Will’s backside. His control was slipping, unraveling under the weight of Will’s dominance and desire.

Will discarded the knife with a flick of his wrist, the blade clattering to the floor as he pressed his lips against Hannibal’s in a consuming kiss. The metallic tang of blood lingered between them, blending with their shared heat as their mouths moved hungrily. Will’s fingers curled around the nape of Hannibal’s neck, pulling him closer, while Hannibal’s hands roamed, gripping and kneading, mapping the contours of Will’s body.

Hannibal’s fingers slid lower, at the juncture of his buttocks, probing with deliberate, eager,  pressure that made Will break the kiss with a low moan, his breath ragged against Hannibal’s cheek. — Wait, — he murmured, though his body betrayed him, arching into the touch.

— I’ll wait as long as you need, — Hannibal replied, though the strain in his voice made clear how tightly he was holding onto his control. His cock pressed insistently against Will, their mutual need palpable.

Will slid off Hannibal’s lap, his knees hitting the floor as he steadied himself against the older man’s thighs. He forced Hannibal’s legs apart, his gaze locking onto him with predatory intent. The sight of Hannibal’s arousal, flushed and eager, drew a wicked smile from Will. 

Will’s hands trailed up Hannibal’s thighs, deliberate in their movement, teasing the tension in the older man’s body. He leaned in, letting his breath ghost over the flushed tip of Hannibal’s cock  before delivering a slow, deliberate lick. Hannibal inhaled sharply, his hands tangling in Will’s hair as his control began to slip. His eyes flashing sparks.

— You’re teasing,— Hannibal breathed, his voice strained but still composed.

Will pulled back just enough to respond, his eyes gleaming with mischief. — Only because you deserve it. 

Will leaned forward again, his lips wrapping around the tip with agonizing slowness, his tongue working in deliberate strokes that sent shocks of pleasure through the older man. Hannibal’s hands tightened in Will’s hair, not to control him, but as a desperate anchor against the storm of sensation. 

— Have you ever envisioned this? — Will murmured against him, his lips brushing the sensitive skin. Then, without warning, he took Hannibal completely, his movements no longer tentative.

Hannibal groaned aloud, a raw, primal sound that seemed to reverberate through the room. — Fuck.

Will's cock moved at Hannibal swearing. How nasty that word felt coming from that man. Will squeezed the base of Hannibal's dick and pulled it out of his mouth for a moment to demand — I asked you something.

Hannibal’s eyes closed briefly, his head tilting back as a low groan escaped him because of the pressure in his cock. — Many times,— he confessed, his tone unguarded, — though not quite like this. — His hands gripping Will’s hair, fingers curling tightly as Will, pleased with the answer, took him again, deeper, his rhythm measured and excruciatingly sensual.

Will’s pace quickened, his mouth and hands working in a seamless rhythm that left Hannibal gasping. His control was a tantalizing blend of skill and cruelty, just enough to push Hannibal toward the edge without letting him fall.

Hannibal’s fingers tightened in Will’s hair as a low growl escaped his lips. — Will,— he breathed, his voice rough, — you’re testing my patience.

Will pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, a smirk playing on his swollen lips. — Patience suits you, Doctor, — he teased before taking him back fully, drawing a strangled groan.

Hannibal’s restraint shattered momentarily as his hips bucked against Will’s mouth. The younger man responded with a firm hand against his thigh, reestablishing control. He worked Hannibal relentlessly until he felt some precum in his mouth and the older man’s breath turned erratic. Then, with deliberate cruelty, he released him entirely.

Hannibal’s head fell back, his chest heaving as he fought to regain composure. Before he could protest, Will stood, leaning forward to whisper against his ear, — Turnabout is fair play, Hannibal. Now, fuck me.

Hannibal rose with purpose, his predatory focus entirely on Will as he repositioned them. He guided Will to the chaise longue, hands firm but reverent as he pressed the younger man forward until his chest met the fabric. Hannibal’s large hands gripped Will’s hips, raising them slightly, leaving him vulnerable and exposed.

Will’s breath caught as he felt hands grab his buttocks and the wet slide of Hannibal’s tongue against his entrance, a sensation he hadn’t anticipated but found himself utterly consumed by. His fingers dug into the chaise, his moans muffled against the upholstery.

Hannibal’s ministrations were deliberate, exploratory, and relentless. His tongue teased and pressed, sending waves of pleasure through Will’s body.  — You taste exquisite,— Hannibal murmured against him, his voice reverent, tinged with hunger.

Will gasped, his head turning slightly to glance back at the man whose face was buried between his butt cheeks. — Hannibal,— he breathed, half in disbelief, half in surrender.

Hannibal pulled back just enough to speak, his hands kneading Will’s flesh. — You wanted to know why I haven’t eaten you yet — he said, his tone rich with dark amusement. — I could never destroy something so beautiful … If I have to eat you, Will,— he said, his tone reverent, — I would always rather eat you up. Just like this.

Will let out a shuddering moan as Hannibal’s mouth returned, his tongue pressing deeper. That was a completely new sensation. He had sex with a couple of men and women when he was in college but no one had ever done this to him. His own arousal throbbed painfully against the chaise, the friction only amplifying his need. — Hannibal, please,— he begged, his voice cracking under the weight of his desire.

The older man finally pulled away, his lips glistening as he watched Will’s ass adoringly for a few seconds and reached for the lube. He slicked his fingers with precision, his touch reverent as he began to prepare Will.

Hannibal’s long fingers moved with precision, exploring and stretching Will with care that was almost maddening. Each press and curl sent sparks of pleasure rippling through Will’s body, his breaths turning into soft, broken moans.

Hannibal leaned over Will — You take my fingers so well,— he murmured, his voice a low hum of approval against Will’s ear. The sensation of breath and words, paired with the firm press of his fingers that had just found his prostate, made Will shudder, his body responding instinctively.

— My dick is already leaking just thinking about how you would take it.  — Hannibal added in a low raspy whisper. And Will’s insides  sucked even harder. He has never heard Hannibal talk so explicitly about something, so ... raw. 

— Hannibal, — Will moaned, his voice trembling with impatience, — stop teasing and fuck me.

Hannibal greatly enjoyed when Will was dominant, but also when he begged him, so needy, so greedy.  Slowly, he withdrew his fingers, his hand lingering on Will’s hips as though reluctant to let go. With a calculated calm, Hannibal coated his cock with lube, stroking himself a few times. He lined himself up and his gaze remained fixed on Will’s back, savoring the anticipation that crackled in the air. Yet, he didn’t move, his stillness a silent demand for Will to acknowledge his power over him.

Will shifted his face slightly, his impatience evident. He didn’t need to look at Hannibal to understand the deliberate pause, the unspoken demand hanging in the air. — I need you, Hannibal,— he whispered, his voice softer now, a raw indulgence meant for the older man’s ears. — Please .

A surrender that was deliberate yet charged with its own quiet power.

Hannibal didn’t need further urging. Slowly, deliberately, he pressed forward, the heat of Will’s body enveloping him inch by inch. His hands gripping those hips firmly, his eyes closed feeling the pressure in the tip of his cock. 

Will groaned at the stretch, his hands clawing at the chaise beneath him as he adjusted to the intrusion. The intensity stole his breath, but it was the deliberate pace, the agonizing slowness, that unraveled him. — More,— he demanded, his voice ragged.  

Hannibal obliged, sinking deeper until he was fully inside him, his head falling back as a guttural moan escaped his lips. His hands tightened their hold on Will’s hips, steadying him as he began to move, slow, deliberate thrusts that left neither of them untouched by the building heat between them.  

Will’s body responded instinctively, meeting Hannibal’s movements, his own cock trapped and aching against the chaise. Each thrust struck something deep within him, sending waves of pleasure coursing through his body. — Hannibal,— he moaned, his voice a mixture of need and surrender.  

Hannibal’s pace quickened, his restraint unraveling with each thrust, each one pulling a new sound from Will’s lips. His hands slid upward, mapping the curve of Will’s spine before gripping his shoulders, pulling him closer to meet his movements. — You feel... extraordinary,— he murmured, his voice raw.  

Will arched beneath him, his body surrendering completely to the sensations. Hannibal’s hand slid around to Will’s chest, tugging him upright, their bodies flush as he continued to move inside him.  

The new angle drew a cry from Will, his hands gripping Hannibal’s forearm for stability. — Harder,— he demanded, his voice raw, desperate.  

Hannibal complied, his restraint crumbling as he gave in to Will’s plea.  

Hannibal’s thrusts grew forceful, the sound of their bodies colliding echoing through the office, shameless and primal. Will’s moans became cries of unrestrained pleasure, his back arching as Hannibal angled perfectly, each movement igniting fireworks deep within him. 

One of Hannibal’s hands slid down to grip Will’s cock, stroking him in time with his thrusts. Will’s breaths came in sharp gasps as his body tensed, the intensity driving him closer to the edge. 

— I’m close,— he gasped, his voice breaking. 

Hannibal’s teeth grazed his shoulder, — Come for me, Will.—  His voice a low growl as his lips brushed against Will’s ear.

Hannibal’s grip tightened on Will’s hips as he drove deeper, his rhythm relentless. The combined sensations; Hannibal’s hand stroking him, the weight of his body pressing against him, and the relentless thrusts; pushed Will over the edge. His release came in a shuddering wave, his body tightening around Hannibal as he cried out, his climax painting the chaise beneath him.  

The tight contraction of Will’s muscles around him nearly unraveled Hannibal, but he forced himself to hold back, savoring the moment.

Without withdrawing, Hannibal’s arm encircled Will, holding him close as the younger man trembled through the last waves of his release, enjoying the feeling of Will falling apart in an orgasm.

Will only needed a few seconds to recover, the intensity of the sensation still coursing through him. To his surprise, he was still half-hard, his body responding with an urgency that left him astonished. His refractory period had never been so brief, a clear sign of how desperately he craved Hannibal, craved to feel him inside, to bridge the unbearable gap between them once more.

He turned his head, lips parted, eyes glassy and pleading. Hannibal leaned, capturing his mouth in a messy, unrestrained kiss, wet and utterly consuming.

— Let me ride you,— Will murmured, his voice a breathless rasp, breaking the kiss and meeting Hannibal’s gaze.  

Hannibal didn’t hesitate. In a swift, fluid motion, he shifted their positions, manhandling Will until he was seated astride him. Hannibal lay back in the chaise, his hands moving to Will’s hips as the younger man positioned himself, his fingers curling against Hannibal’s pecs for balance.  

Will arched his back as he sank down onto Hannibal, his breath hitching at the depth of the sensation. His head tilted back, an expression of pure pleasure painting his features as he began to move, setting a rhythm that had Hannibal groaning beneath him.  

Hannibal’s hands roamed his thighs and hips, squeezing and guiding him, his gaze fixed on Will’s face; the parted lips, the flushed cheeks, the glazed eyes. How beautiful he was undone.

Will’s rhythm grew bolder, his movements fluid and deliberate, each motion sending waves of pleasure coursing through both their bodies. Hannibal’s grip on his hips tightened, guiding him as he thrust upward to meet Will’s descent, the synchronization between them raw and intoxicating.  

The intensity between them built with every movement, every gasp and groan a testament to the raw connection that bound them. Hannibal’s grip on Will’s hips became bruising as he felt his own release approaching. — Will,— he murmured, his voice a low growl,  — I’m close.  

Will leaned forward, his breath hot against Hannibal’s ear. — Then fuck me harder and come inside me — he whispered, his tone both a challenge and a plea.  

Hannibal’s restraint finally snapped. With a guttural sound, his grip on Will tightened as he thrust upward with unrelenting force. 

— Yes, just like that — Will gasped, when Hannibal began hitting his prostate nonstop. Will’s body arched, his hands gripping Hannibal’s chest as he cried out of pleasure.

The sight of Will unraveling pushed Hannibal over the edge, a deep groan rumbling from his chest as he spilled into Will, his thrusts faltering as waves of pleasure coursed through him.  

Hannibal filled Will completely, the connection between them deeper than anything either had experienced before. It felt as though the slight remaining boundary had dissolved entirely, leaving them as one.

Will continued to move, his body instinctively following the rhythm of Hannibal’s hips as the older man rode the lingering spasms of his release. The cum inside him made each movement fluid, almost seamless. Seconds later, Will’s body tensed, a guttural cry ripping from his throat as his own climax surged through him. His body trembled uncontrollably, and his release spilled across Hannibal’s chest, warm and vivid, a second peak that left him utterly undone.

Hannibal’s hands roamed over Will’s trembling body, his fingers sliding from his hips to the curve of his back, tracing the sheen of sweat that glistened on his flushed skin. Will’s chest heaved, eyes closed, his head tilted back as if he was emerging from another dimension.

Hannibal marveled at the sight above him, the way Will seemed to teeter on the edge of control, his body still quaking with aftershocks. — Beautiful — Hannibal murmured, his voice filled with reverence. How heavenly was Will from that angle as though carved by divine hands , Hannibal thought. Ethereal, like a god.

Will opened his eyes, catching the way Hannibal gazed at him with something that bordered on worship. Hannibal traced his index finger along his own abdomen, collecting the evidence of Will’s release. — You’ve undone me, Will,— he murmured, bringing the finger to his own lips and tasting it with deliberate intent. His eyes gleamed, dark and hungry. — I find myself craving to taste you entirely.

Hazy with satisfaction, Will leaned forward until their foreheads touched. — I believe we’ve undone each other,— he whispered, his voice raw as he kissed Hannibal, tasting himself on his lips.

Will finally shifted, letting his weight rest against Hannibal’s chest, his body still warm, pliant, and trembling slightly from the aftermath. Hannibal’s hands remained steady on his thighs, their shared intimacy lingering in the quiet air, heavy as an unspoken vow.

— Do you regret it? — Hannibal’s voice was low, probing but sincere.

Will tilted his head, a faint, sardonic smirk curling his lips. — If I did, you’d already know.

Hannibal’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing a light pattern against Will’s skin. — Indeed. Regret doesn’t suit you, Will.

Will shifted again, tilting his head to study the man beneath him. — Do you? — he asked, calm but edged with curiosity.

Tracing the faint marks left on Will’s skin, Hannibal’s gaze turned contemplative. — Regret implies a failure of intention, — he said softly, his tone almost gentle. — And I intended every moment of this.

Will’s smirk faltered, softening into something vulnerable. He leaned forward and kissed Hannibal, slow and tender, a striking contrast to the wild desperation of their earlier encounter. Hannibal responded in kind, his hands tightening around Will as though anchoring him in place, their bodies entwined in an embrace that spoke of more than lust.

Dizzy from the intensity, Will forced himself to break the kiss, his breaths uneven as he stood. The sensations roaring through him felt wild and all-consuming, and he knew he needed space to process it. He couldn’t afford to lose himself completely … not yet. Sleeping with Hannibal Lecter was already reckless enough.

With deliberate movements, Will cleaned himself with a handkerchief and gathered his clothes, but instead of dressing immediately, he placed them neatly on the chaise. Turning back to Hannibal, now seated, Will’s gaze sharpened, unreadable.

— This doesn’t end here,— he said, stepping closer, his voice low and certain.

Hannibal tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering across his features. — No, Will. It’s only the beginning.

Will leaned down, their faces so close their breaths mingled. Even amidst the swirling haze in his mind, one thing was crystal clear. — If this consumes us,— he whispered, his voice dripping with promise and menace, — I’ll make sure I take you with me.

Hannibal’s lips curved into a small, predatory smile. — I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Will returned the smile briefly, a flicker of something both dark and amused crossing his features, before stepping back. He began dressing, preparing to leave.

As he reached the door, Hannibal’s voice cut through the silence. — And, Will—about Verger… — He paused, his tone light yet laced with intent. — If I kill him, would you join me at the table?.

Will turned back, his gaze lingering on Hannibal, a wry smile tugging at his lips. — Mason Verger is a pig,— he said, his tone casual yet cutting, — and he deserves to be somebody’s bacon.

The unspoken affirmation hung in the air as Will turned and walked out, leaving Hannibal seated on the chaise, contemplative and deeply satisfied. The silence that followed felt less like an ending and more like the prelude to something inevitable.