Chapter Text
“‘If a man has sexual relations with a man as one does with a woman,
both of them have done what is detestable.
They are to be put to death;
their blood will be on their own heads." Leviticus, 20:13
The creak of footsteps seems as loud as lightning as Will follows Hannibal through the winding hallways of the church. It is silent except for them, and even the swiftness of their movements is barely perceptible. That is, to anybody else. To Will, every sound is amplified by the buzzing in his limbs, by the staggered beat of his lively heart, by the trembling of his own breath.
"Are you alright?" A cool voice echoes. It snaps Will directly out of his post-ejaculate daze. He glances up, eyes wide.
"Hm? Oh, yes. Sorry." He mutters, gaze flickering to the darkened staircase behind Hannibal's form. The taller man smiles softly, stepping aside and outstretching a hand towards it.
"I prefer the crypt. Hardly any interruptions. I have 'made it my own', as one would say." Hannibal breathes. "You may enter first, William."
Will inhales deeply, eyes trailing over Hannibal's face. He purses his lips before nodding shortly. He starts down the dusty staircase, nose twitching as he attempts to keep from sneezing. The stone is slippery beneath his loafers, and so he has to clutch onto the wall for stability. His hand is soon engulfed in spiderwebs. He curses, shaking his phalanges and wiping them on his pants. He swears he can hear a short chuckle behind him--a small exhale of carbon dioxide on the pliant skin of his own neck.
He doesn't turn around. Something in his being tells him he shouldn't. He has an eerie feeling that the man behind him is undergoing transformation. Becoming his true self as they both venture deeper into the underground. Once they make it to the last step, Hannibal rests a cool hand on Will's shoulder. Will stiffens, exhaling a sharp breath. Hannibal's lips ghost over his ear--or at least it seems that way. Hannibal simply shuffles Will to the side. The gleam of metal in the moonlight reveals a small key. He inserts and twists it, letting the heavy barred door swing.
Will steps down, following Hannibal's form further into the crypt. It is dark. So dark, in fact, that Will's fingers twitch beside his thigh with the urge to unsheath the pocketknife at his ankle. It's as though Hannibal catches this small signal of apprehension because he walks to a table and retrieves a small box of matches. Light blooms orange before brightening the chamber as an oil lamp is lit.
Will's shoulders visibly relax as Hannibal lights a second lamp, and then a third and fourth. And then an assortment of candles.
"Make yourself at home, Saint William." Hannibal rumbles, turning to the man. Will swallows. Hannibal crossed his hands before his waist.
"I plan to change and then start on your meal. I have a feeling you will want to inspect, to find everything I have. Including a way out." Hannibal's teeth shine as he flashes a smile that can only be described as predatory. Will glares at him like a dog on high alert. Hannibal chuckles.
"No need to be so...violent. I do not plan on hurting you." Hannibal reassures. "Simply noticing your nature. Alas, I will be back." And with that, Hannibal's robed form retreats into the darkness. Will holds his breath until he hears a door shut in the distance. He sighs, shutting his eyes as he pinches the bridge of his nose. He should take the opportunity, he supposes. He wraps his palm around the rusted handle of a lit oil lamp, feeling the heat.
He steps carefully, unaware if there are any four-legged creatures lurking in holes or corners. He doubts that Father Lecter would inhabit it if there were, but it's better to be safe than sorry.
The crypt is not very crypt-like, aside from the darkness. There is a large dark red couch that seems fairly recently used. Before it is a coffee table, littered with books. None of which are the Bible, Will notes. He sits down on the sofa, kneading the velvet between his fingertips. He sets down the lamp and inspects the table.
On it are a multitude of papers--some yellowed, some stark white, some even charcoal black. His breath hitches as he lays his eyes on the drawings. Magnificent. Spreads of emotion, of anatomy, of objects. In watercolor and pencil and charcoal. Renditions of famous paintings, like Caravaggio's The Entombment of Christ, Virtruvian Man, Saturn Devouring his Son, and one that strikes curiosity within the depths of Will's mind.
Botticelli's Primavera.
It's in pencil, colored in pencil as well. It's an unbelievable replica--perfect in the strokes, but there is one clear difference. Zephyrus and Chloris' colors are not as...vibrant as they were in Botticelli's. They look withered, pale, bruised. Eyes unfixed, dark and glazed over. Purples and greens replace the pink and red hues of blush. There are lines in the skin that look almost like a cracked china doll. Or...
Or a dead body.
Will inhales deeply. That's where he recognizes it from.
He remembers studying a case during his days in the academy--a double murder found in Florence, victims posed and decorated like the main subjects in La Primavera. Will's fingers tremble as he sets down the work. He inspects the others with an altered perspective, has he seen a tableau remotely similar to any of them?
A door shuts loudly, jerking Will's gaze up.
Hannibal stands in the doorway, and oh, has he transformed.
His body is no longer draped in fabric, but closely fitted in a white button-up. Fear shoots through Will's heart--he's fallen into the trap. He's next. He wonders if his stiffened corpse will be positioned as Michealangelo or the Rebellious Slave. But he notices, fear isn't the only emotion he feels. He's hoisted between curiosity and arousal, interest and disgust all at once. He wets his lips with his tongue, narrowing his eyes at Hannibal.
"You're Il Monstro." He whispers. Hannibal hums, stepping closer. Will gasps.
"You're...perceptive." He mutters, picking at the skin of his cuticles. "Though, I had faith you'd figure it out." Hannibal squints. He floats on the air, waltzing to the small kitchen behind the couch where Will resides. He slips on a black apron, cinching it at his waist and preparing his station. Will shivers.
"You've heard of me, I presume." Hannibal starts, slicing a tomato. Will nods, jaw clenching. When he speaks, his voice comes out strained.
"Yeah. I've heard of you." He admits. Silence reverberates against the walls.
"Well, what do you think?"
Will squints, turning to peer at Hannibal behind him. "What?" He spits. Hannibal shrugs, dicing the heirloom.
"I asked you, what do you think? Or rather, what did you think when you first heard of me. Saw my work."
Will swallows thickly, uttering a small 'Uh," as he wracks his brain for the thoughts of his youthful mind. He clicks his tongue before speaking.
"I remember...feeling disgusted. Appalled at the gall he- you, had. And mesmerized. By your ability to turn death into art. I found myself wishing..." He trails off.
"Wishing what?"
"Wishing I could frame it. Wishing everybody in the room understood how remarkable it was." He sighs, feeling bile rising in his throat. "I wanted to be you. To be there while you created. I wanted you, I wanted your approval, I wanted your acknowledgement." Will chokes.
Hannibal smiles softly, setting the flame to a low simmer. He turns towards Will, crossing his arms over his own chest. "And now?"
"And now..." Will exhales. "I'm tip-toeing. You're not who I expected you to be."
"Well, what did you expect?" Hannibal implores, pouring a glass of dark red wine. He steps forward tentatively, handing it to Will. Will takes it, shivering as his own fingertips brush the other man's. Hannibal watches him with parted lips, almost enthralled.
Will chuckles, shaking his head. He squints down into the glass. "Not this. Not a corrupted priest." He laughs. "Why do you do this, Father? What do you gain?" Will questions, resting his chin on the back of the sofa. Hannibal's chest expands with breath, eyes trailing up to the ceiling as he searches for a response. He parts his lips.
"I have never been able to successfully separate myself from the religion in which I was raised. Catholicism has roots in me. Those roots are my foundation. They are the reason I have become what I am. I drifted to the priesthood to pay it forward." Hannibal drawls, throat contracting. Will hums, non-commital and unconvinced.
"Is that it?" He spits.
Hannibal shakes his head, setting down his glass of wine. "Not entirely. It's no doubt a very useful cover." He admits. Will grins, tilting his glass forward in his direction.
"I'll drink to that." He quirks a brow before swallowing the last of his wine in one gulp. Hannibal narrows his eyes at him, curiosity sparkling. He tilts his head.
"I presume you fancy scotch and whiskey more, correct?" He rumbles, rolling up his sleeves and returning to his place at the stove. Will hums, nodding.
"Yeah. If I drink wine, I prefer it to be dry." Hannibal smiles.
"Great taste." Hannibal pauses, forearm bulging as he stirs. "May I ask you a personal question, William?"
Will snorts, nodding once. "As long as I may return the favor, Father. Quid pro quo."
Hannibal inhales, attempting to ignore the tingles that Will's grainy voice sends down his shoulder blades. He clears his throat.
"The blood." He starts. The directness of his statement catches Will off guard. "The lashes on your back. Are those self-inflicted?"
Will inhales sharply, a small sound escaping his throat as he attempts to exhale slowly. He shuts his eyes, nodding slowly. "Yes." He grits. There's a lot of movement in the kitchen behind Will's place before the next question is posed.
"They are not truly an act of penance--are they, Will?" Hannibal enunciates tediously. Will's fingernails trail over his slacks absentmindedly.
"Here to psychoanalyze me, Father?"
Hannibal smiles, not exactly denying Will's inference. "If I wanted to psychoanalyze you, I wouldn't be asking. I could tell you what I've gathered just from speaking with you if I wanted to be a prick."
Will feigns a gasp, thrusting his palm over his own chest. "How dare you, Father. You do know that profanity is a sin, don't you?"
Hannibal laughs heartily at that, shoulders relaxing beneath the silky fabric of his shirt.
Will swallows, raising his hand. "Well, do go ahead. I'm now quite interested in your perception of me." Will mutters. Hannibal takes a deep breath.
"The first word that comes to mind when I think of you is troubled." He negates. "You have a disquieting air. Tremulous, skittish. That was how I knew you were a man in escape. Whether from the police, your actions, or you own vulgar desires, I wasn't sure. I think you have a complex. You don't believe you are the Lord himself, but that you are burdened by Him. You delude yourself into believing He is asking things of you, things that you want to do but have no reason to. Your ego is who you worship in actuality, not Our Lord and Savior."
Will's brow twitches as he dissects Hannibal's words. He almost wants to lunge across the couch and press his blade to the soft skin of his wrinkled throat. He wants to tear the words from Hannibal's throat and make him swallow them, but before he can do so, Hannibal continues.
"And along with that comes a misinterpretation of God's word. You claim to cut yourself as 'penance', but you know what you are doing isn't for God. It's for yourself."
Will bites his tongue almost hard enough to bleed. He inhales shakily, fingers twitching at his sheathed knife. "What does it do for me, Doctor?"
The fire clicks off. Hannibal sighs, wiping his hands on a towel that rests over the oven. He turns to Will, walking around the couch to tower over Will's incredibly defensive form. Will glares up at Hannibal like an untrained mutt--in desperate need of discipline. Hannibal peers down at him through his nose, an expression of disappointment and distaste plaguing his stoic features.
"I have a few ideas. It is a punishment for yourself. A way of etching your insecurities onto the thread of time that is your skin." Hannibal inhales, leaning over and inspecting Will's face. He tilts his head, peering into the deep oceans of Will's glassy eyes. Will stiffens at the breach of personal space, tilting his chin up in an attempt to assert dominance. "You've hurt yourself even before they influenced you to do it as an altar boy at church. Your father's shaving razors, perhaps?"
Will chokes, feeling his cheeks heat with embarrassment. Hannibal leisurely purses his lips.
"No. That was later on, wasn't it? You hit yourself--that's what it was." Hannibal digs deeper into Will's psyche, scraping at the ice of his deepest memories. "Am I correct?" Will doesn't respond, shutting his eyes and panting as he tries to stall a breakdown. Hannibal reaches a cool hand up Will's neck, marveling at the shiver that wracks through him. The pads of his fingertips press into the budding stubble at his jaw, caressing with such light touches that Will isn't even sure that it's not a figment of his imagination.
Will nods. "Yes. You're correct." He croaks.
"You're unwell, Will." Hannibal whispers. "So beautifully unwell." Will swallows, batting his damp lashes up Hannibal. He melts into the touch, practically fusing himself with Hannibal's palm. "Tell me, Will. Do not let me speak for you. What does it do for you?" He coos, running his fingers through Will's damp curls.
Will gasps, hyperventilating as he blinks wildly. No tears stain his cheeks, but he feels like they do. He is haunted by the phantoms of the tears he can never let go.
"I feel so much." He hiccups. "And pain just- helps me express it. It's not entirely sorrowful." He whispers.
"Isn't it?" Hannibal questions, brows rising in intrigue. "Do tell me more, child."
Will pushing air through gritted teeth. "I've...reclaimed it. In a sense. It..." He trails off, pure humiliation wrapping vines around his throat. Hannibal smirks, sharp canines glinting like a predators in the moonlight.
"Oh." Hannibal exhales. "Oh." He mumbles, heart thundering against the cage of his ribs. Of course. "Does it..." He whispers, fingers pressing more firmly into Will's skin. "..arouse you, Will?"
Will bites back a moan, feeling his own pulse thunder beneath Hannibal's middle and index finger on his neck. He shifts in his seat. Hannibal's fingers trail down his neck to his shoulder and then back. Will hisses as he feels Hannibal's sharp nails press into one of the welts beneath his shirt. He groans, hips instinctively bucking forward at the fierce sting. Hannibal's throat rumbles in acknowledgement, the heat of his breath against Will's cheek making him sweat.
"William." Hannibal gnaws at the skin of Will's jawline, pressing his fingers more insistently at the opening of the wound. Will cries out, biting his lip so hard the metallic taste of blood blooms on the flesh of his tongue. He pants, the pure heat and sting of Hannibal's fingers prickling reactionary tears in his eyes. he chokes, gasping for air as he helplessly writhes into the air above him.
Hannibal shushes him, a curt exhale of air against his neck before planting kisses against the skin that seems to burn at the touch. Will grips the fabric of the sofa hard enough for the velvet to force indents in his skin. He swallows, head lulling back against the rest as he feels Hannibal's fingers venture deeper into the gash. He lurches forward, feeling a rush of nausea.
"Hann- Hannibal, fuck."
Hannibal groans against his neck, lapping up the beads of sweat that have accumulated. "Yes?"
Will whimpers, legs going weak when Hannibal twists his wrist, reopening a stitch that steadily leaks sticky blood onto Hannibal's fingers. He trembles, vision going white with the intense mixture of pleasure and agony. He swears he's about to cum in his pants for the second time that night when Hannibal removes his fingers. Will blinks, chest rising and falling hastily. His eyes are blown impossibly wide--the black of his pupils practically engulfing the bluish-gray hues of his irises.
His eyes flicker between lucidity and a trance-like state as they follow Hannibal's pale hand which inches up towards plush lips. Hannibal stares down at him with an equal expression of mesmerization. He places his index finger on his lips and Will's breath catches as he watches the wine-red hues stain his lips. A light pink tongue darts out to meet the digit, lapping up the warm stickiness that dribbles down the flesh.
A moan creeps past Will's lips as he watches Hannibal take the finger into his mouth, sucking it impossibly clean.
"The blood of Christ." Will whispers breathily. Hannibal swallows thickly, staring down at his servant.
"Amen." He whispers, voice gritty and deepened with unhindered desire. Will's vision swims as he watches Hannibal bring his unclean finger to rest on Will's lips. A shaky exhale slips past him as his own tongue darts out, almost instinctively. Hannibal hums, tilting his head up as he feels the heat of Will's mouth envelope his finger. He inhales deeply, slowly thrusting the finger in and out experimentally. When Will's eyes flutter shut, he takes it as an invitation.
"And the body." He mutters, chest fluttering as he feels Will swallow around him. He pulls his finger back, hearing the sweet 'pop' sound echoes throughout the stone crypt. Will licks his lips, tasting iron and need. He looks up at Hannibal for the better part of half a minute, attempting to organize his thoughts. Unfortunately, the only thing he hears time and time again in his mind is more. He needs more. He needs all of him, to take him, to destroy him, to kill him. To have him, to sacrifice him, to fuck him.
Will tugs at Hannibal's belt loops, slotting him between his thighs in an instant.
Hannibal gasps, though his breath is quickly cut short by the heat of Will's lips against his. Will shivers, wrapping his own calf around Hannibal's waist as he slips in tongue into his mouth. Hannibal takes his communion eagerly, quickly flicking his own tongue against Will's, tasting the decadent tang of blood. Blood seeps through Will's shirt, subsequently staining Hannibal's stark white sleeve as he grasps onto him like he'll manage to slip through his fingers.
Will bites down on Hannibal's bottom lip, splitting it at the seam and sucking away any remnants of pain. Hannibal's eyes roll back as a hearty groan tears its way through his throat.
"Off." Will demands, tugging at the buttons of Hannibal's shirt. The priest flashes a grin, fingers hovering above Will's as he swiftly undoes the buttons and tears it off. Will moans softly, fingertips skimming the smooth skin with reverence--worship. He ducks his head forward, planting open-mouthed kisses on the flesh. Hannibal's fingers curl in Will's hair, fisting and tugging it with no resolve.
Will's tongue travels downward, circling a stiff pink nipple before teasing it with his canines. Hannibal bites his lip, hips thrusting forward. Will whimpers softly at the friction, the feeling of their pure unbridled need rubbing against eachother. Hannibal pants, cursing as his eyes flutter shut.
"Will-" He gulps. "William."
Will inhales deeply, licking pliantly at one nipple before moving to lavish the other with the same attention. "Yes, Father?"
Hannibal huffs, stomach flipping. His cock twitches, neglected in his slacks. He parts his lips to speak, though through the haze of desire his previously concise expressions have been whittled down to stutters and babbles.
"I'm- I need," He swallows, fingers twitching in Will's curls. Will breathes, hot against his skin. Pink marks have joined the pink circles of Hannibal's areola.
"You need God, Father. He's not here." Will spits. "I'm here."
Hannibal shuts his eyes, watching the light of flames dance in red and orange dresses behind his eyelids. He soon takes Will's throat in his hand, eliciting a pained grunt from the man. He forces his gaze up to meet him, feeling his pulse flutter beneath his fingertips. Will swallows, gasping as light-headedness overtakes his vision. Hannibal's grip loosens, letting Will catch his breath like a man post-drown scare.
"Remarkable. I am giving unto you what I have given to none before you." Hannibal whispers with conviction.
Will squints, tilting his head. He studies Hannibal, the tension in his shoulders, the trembling in his fingertips. He thought he was just eager, excited. But now...Could it be? Will swallows, lips parted in surprise. Hannibal nods once, wordless.
"Do you understand?" He laments. Will sits up straighter, licking his lips.
"I think...I think I do." Will exhales. His mind races, how could he have missed this? "Explain."
Hannibal inhales sharply, rejection brewing in his gut.
"I have never...given myself to anyone before. Or taken anyone. Before you."
Will listens, hands settling on Hannibal's waist. He presses a soft kiss to his collarbone, relishing in the shaky gasp that falls from his lips. "Keep going."
Hannibal swallows. "I never planned on it. It is a worldly engagement. One I, being that I do not consider myself a man, have no interest in."
Will hums, an exhale close to a chuckle. "Of course. God doesn't concern himself with sex, does he?"
Hannibal shakes his head, grunting beneath Will's ministrations. "No. He does not." He pauses, moaning softly. "But, even God isn't immune to the temptations of the Devil."
Will laughs at that, scraping his teeth along Hannibal's throat.
"Does that make me the devil in this analogy?" He whispers, sultry and condescending beneath Hannibal's earlobe.
"No doubt." Hannibal mutters.
Will pauses, thinking on that some. The first man he fucked called him an 'angel', and this one 'the devil.' What a turn of events.
"What...What do you want to do, Father Lecter?"
"I want..." Hannibal coaxes. He grinds his hips slowly into Will's, watching the man's eyes darken. "To secure my spot in hell with you, Saint William."
Will shudders, a punched out sound vibrating through his throat as the friction makes him leak steadily into his boxers. He captures Hannibal's lips once more, kissing him with fervor. Hannibal exhales frantically against him, fingers tugging at the fabric of Will's blood-soaked flannel. Will ducks his head, letting Hannibal tear it off. Hannibal's fingertips ghost lightly over the cusp of Will's throat, nails scraping over his adams apple.
Will grunts, lips falling open as he pants.
"You are absolutely divine. Sculpted from the palms of angels themselves." Hannibal gulps, tracing the raised pink lines that split Will's biceps. Will shivers, the pure sensitivity of his healed scars beneath Hannibal's nails over spurring him on.
"I need you, Father." Will quavers. "Follow my lead."
Hannibal locks eyes with Will in the darkness, searching him with caustic need. He nods once, pursing his lips. Will rolls over, straddling Hannibal's form so tightly that his thighs tremble. Hannibal groans, hands falling to Hannibal's thighs. He rocks Will's hips slowly, a decadent expression of corruption slipping past the mask. Will lips his hips, slowly grinding himself back down on the priest. Hannibal's fingers trail down Will's abdomen to his waist, swiftly unclasping the brown leather belt and pulling it from the loops. Will assists him, removing his lengthy limbs from his black pantlegs.
Hannibal's auburn eyes catch on the hefty bulge in Will's boxers. His mouth waters as he slips his thumb over the head through the fabric.
Will gasps, thrusting forward at the torment. His grip on Hannibal's broad shoulders tightens, nails digging half-circles into the flesh.
"That's- Jesus Christ." He curses, brows tensing as he shuts his eyes. He cries out, pained whimpers falling from his lips when Hannibal grinds the heel of his hand into Will's clothed dick. "Fuck! Hannibal-"
Will's eyes fly open as he feels the sting of leather against his back. His eyes roll back as he chases the rush of pleasure that Hannibal's hand provides.
"You will refer to me as Father." Hannibal directs, squeezing Will's thigh. "Do you understand?"
Will swallows, feeling a rush of blood directly between his legs. His cock twitches. "Yes, Father."
Hannibal hums, a soothing sound beneath its voracity. "Good. I don't want to have to punish you." He purrs. His fingers slip beneath the waistband of Will's boxers, tugging them off and discarding them on the floor beneath them. Will gasps as the cool air of the crypt rushes against his dick. He's so impossibly hard, weeping and redenned by the incessant teasing.
The first stroke of Hannibal's palm is so exquisite that Will feels as though he is drowning in pleasure. More accurately, being held beneath the intoxicating boil of euphoric delirium. His lips fall open, small huffs of breath escaping him as he fucks into Hannibal's hand.
"God." Will exhales, breathless.
"A blasphemous thing you are, Will." Hannibal mutters. Will nods frantically, thighs clenching as he steadies himself on top of him. Will's fingers stumble donward as he stammers indecipherable words. Hannibal grins, hand squeezing around Will's shaft as he watches the man squirm and leak.
"What is it?" He coos, watching Will buck needily into his hand. Will presses his ass into Hannibal's lap, a silent plea. Hannibal kisses Will's collarbone, unoccupied hand traveling maddeningly slowly towards his own waist.
Will moans like a desperate animal as he feels the firm, insistent warmth of Hannibal's cock against his. Sweet, decrepit sounds of their accumulated wetness in Hannibal's hand fills the creaking silence between the stone walls. Will rolls his hips faster, chasing the horrific addendum of need while Hannibal's smooth voice calls him the most disgusting of names.
"It's voyeuristic, isn't it?" He grunts. "The Lord is watching, William. Show him just how sinful you are." Tears wet Will's flushed cheeks, shaking sobs wracking his body. "That's it, child." Hannibal coaxes, feigning a condescending gasp. "Oh, look at you."
Will cries, thrusts slowly coming to a halt as he hiccups. Hannibal reaches his clean hand up, holding Will's face. Will nuzzles into the touch, catching his breath. When he opens his eyes, he seems small. Like a bird with a broken wing, in need of a cast and a cage. Hannibal studies him, clicking his tongue.
"You are the closest thing to God I have ever laid eyes on, Will." He whispers. "Let me worship you. Allow me to prostrate myself before you. Will you let me?"
Will swallows, eyes fluttering shut for a moment before he nods. "Yes."
Hannibal presses a chaste kiss to Will's lips. He cups his hand before them.
"Spit."
Will looks at him before dipping his head. Hannibal's eyes follow Will's before he brings his hand to his own lips and does the same. Will steadies himself. He whimpers softly as he feels Hannibal's hand slip between his thighs. The first finger tentatively circles his hole, rimming him as small hitches in breath fill the room. After a while, Hannibal pushes in to the first knuckle, gasping at the heat of Will's body. Will groans, slowly relaxing at the intrusion.
"That's it. You're doing so well, Father." Will grunts. "A little deeper and you'll feel something." He stutters. Hannibal looks up at him curiously.
"How will I know when i've found it?"
Will chuckles softly, rocking his hips. "Oh, you'll know. I'll tell you."
Hannibal licks his lips, slowly crooking his finger and inspecting Will's reactions. Will jolts forward when Hannibal curls his finger almost completely, shaking as he nods. His stomach flips as the skin on his shoulders tingle.
"Do- Do that again." He grits, panting.
Hannibal smiles. "Anything for you."
Will rides Hannibal's fingers as strings of unintelligible curse words fall from his lips. It's as though Hannibal is a natural, he knows exactly where to press, when to curl, when to speed up.
After a few minutes, Will's practically boneless and Hannibal is getting cocky. Will's teetering on the edge and in his final moments before the plunge, he grabs a firm hold of Hannibal's wrist. Hannibal looks up at him, eyes glinting.
"'M ready." Will mumbles, swallowing.
Anxious excitement shoots through Hannibal's heart, pounding at his rib-cage. His fingers shake as he watches Will raise his hips. He lines himself up, lips parted as he looks up at Will in awe.
Will squints at him. "Go slowly, Father. I'd hate to leave here disappointed."
Hannibal rests his sweating hands on Will's toned thighs, eyes following him as Will slowly slides down onto him.
It's torturously slow, like Will is intent on swallowing Hannibal's length down inch by inch. He's so tight, so warm, so real that Hannibal has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from cumming too early. Will's brows furrow in concentration, stomach fluttering at the pure stretch. He leaks down onto Hannibal's chest as his thighs tremble. Hannibal practically white-knuckles Will's thighs, grasping them so tightly that purplish marks of his fingers have begun to seep their way into Will's skin.
Hannibal's head lulls back against the armrest of the couch, stomach rising and falling like waves against the cliff side.
"William..." He exhales. "I can't- You're-"
Will huffs, slowly rising off of Hannibal's length and sinking back down. "I'm what, Father?"
Hannibal moans loudly, throat straining as he attempts to keep himself quiet. Will slaps a hand over his lips as he establishes a steady pace. The connection of Hannibal's cockhead and Will's prostate is so exquisite that he's sure neither of them will last very long. Hannibal goes limp beneath Will, mumbling sweet praises in Italian as Will uses his dick as nothing more than a toy.
Hannibal is caught by surprise at how much he likes this. He didn't think he'd ever need to have sex. He deemed it below him, that nobody but himself was worthy of his pleasure. But with Will, with his devil, he knows he'll only ever yearn to chase this feeling. It's ungodly how Will makes him feel, needed and righteous and sinful and abhorrent.
Hannibal snaps his hips up into Will without warning, tearing a half-scream of the man on top. He growls, spearing Will's body on his cock. He angles himself to meet that spot Will told him about, pounding mercilessly into his prostate while Will's fingernails scrape down Hannibal's goosebump-ridden chest.
"Holy- Fuck. That's it, Father." Will sobs. "God, I'm gonna cum." He whines, bouncing himself on Hannibal's dick as much as he can with Hannibal's hands like an iron-grip around his thighs.
"Cum for me," Hannibal moans, feeling his own cock twitch inside of Will's heat at the decadent sounds of Will's pleasure. "Give yourself to me, Saint William." He moans, hyperventilating as white-hot pleasure clouds his vision.
Will cums with a lengthy groan. Ropes of semen paint Hannibal's rippling stomach. Hannibal drives himself into Will, allowing himself to fall from the cliff. He hoists Will off of his cock quickly, wrapping his own hand around himself as he wrings his orgasm from his core.
Will ducks down quickly, wrapping his lips around Hannibal's tip. Hannibal shivers violently, hips stuttering as his eyes roll back. Will swallows down Hannibal's cum like water in the desert before moving upwards to his stomach and lapping up his own cum.
Hannibal shudders through the aftershocks, the sensation of Will's hot tongue against his sweating skin like electricity in water. He grabs a handful of Will's hair and jerks his head up, fitting their panting lips together like puzzle pieces. He moans into Will's mouth as he tastes himself on his tongue. Hands slide along sticky skin as if in an attempt to fuse together.
They kiss each other breathlessly, devouring each other like Eve did the apple. When they can no longer ignore their burning need for oxygen, they break. Will chuckles, voice raw from his own noises. The sound is like sugar in Hannibal's ears, like honey on his tongue. And before he knows it, he's laughing too. A hearty, throaty sound he hasn't heard in its entirety in too long to remember.
Will rests his head on Hannibal's chest, listening to the ferocious beat of his cold heart. Hannibal runs his fingers through Will's hair, chest rising and falling as he attempts to regain his carefully constructed composure. They lay there like that for a while, just soaking in each other's presence, listening to the crickets outside the crypt's barred windows and the rhythmic drip of water from the ceiling into a steel pot.
"I'm hungry." Will's soft voice breaks the calm silence.
Hannibal glances down at him, huffing. "Good. We did get distracted, didn't we?"
Will nods. "I do not particularly want to get up." Will whispers.
"Neither do I." Hannibal agrees, clearing his throat.
"But we must." Will states. Hannibal hums.
"And we will." He implores. "Eventually. But, stay here. With me."
Will smiles, pressing a kiss to Hannibal's peck. "Where else would I go?"
The wordless 'Hell' sits in the cool air, neither of them daring to utter it.
~~~