Chapter Text
Will is still feeling a little shaky from the flight as he stands in the lobby of Hannibal’s fancy hotel. He’s always been a nervous flier, and even the relatively short and painless flight from Baltimore to Toronto had spiked his anxiety, leaving him flushed and nearly overwhelmed with the need to have his Dominant - his Daddy close.
The room is gilted and grand, full of golds and navy blues and thick, red velvet curtains blocking the entrance to a speakeasy themed cocktail bar in the back of the building. Will’s fingers twitch against his thigh, and he tries to remind himself of Hannibal’s text message. Of his directions.
Hannibal had left instructions with the front desk to give Will a room key upon his arrival, but the butterflies in his stomach are making his feet drag across the echoing marble floor. He feels so out of place in a hotel as nice as this one, feeling eyes on his back as though every person in the room is watching him and judging him; finding him wanting. It leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat and a burning in his chest and makes him wonder what Hannibal could possibly see in him.
He’s interrupted from his treacherous thoughts and his lurching stomach by a bright, bubbly girl who approaches him with a bounce in her step, the pin affixed to her pant suit flashing in the low lighting of the space - Pippa.
“Mr. Graham?” She gives him another once over before nodding her head as though confirming her own question. “Doctor Lecter asked us to greet you upon your arrival and see to any of your needs. Shall I call up room service for you?” She looks at him again, taking in his most likely queasy expression and unsteady feet. “Perhaps a warm towel and some chamomile and ginger tea?” She chuckles, and it calms Will enough to pull a smile to his lips.
“Sorry, I’m not good with flying, so I’m feeling a bit out of sorts. Just the key to the room would be great, I don’t need anything else.” He doesn’t want to overstep or presume Hannibal’s allowances or expectations here, and also he’d simply rather find a bed to be horizontal on until the shakiness easies from his bones.
“Of course, Mr. Graham. Right this way!” Will’s stomach roils as he follows her, his mind disconnected and fluffy, still stuck up in the plane all those miles above the earth. He needs to calm down before he sees Hannibal, hopes he’ll have time for a shower and maybe take a nap.
The shower never happens. Will collapses onto the massive bed the moment the door swings open and Pippa leaves him, pressing his face into the pillowcase that still smells faintly of Hannibal and is asleep within seconds. When he wakes again the sun filtering in through the large veranda window is the muted color of dusk. His cheeks flame shamefully when he sees Hannibal sitting, casually elegant, at a heavy wooden desk on the other side of the room, his sketchbook out. Will can see the sloping charcoal lines even from here, though the image they make is too far away for him to piece together.
“Hello, beloved.” Will’s entire body shivers at the sound of his Daddy’s voice, at the warm words, as sweet and savory as salted caramel. Beloved. It isn’t quite I love you, but it’s still nearly painfully intimate. Will makes a broken little noise in his throat and is off the bed and across the room in seconds, dropping to his knees beside Hannibal with a cheek pressed to the soft fabric of his dress slacks.
It’s unhealthy how much he’s missed him, even just over the brief time they’ve been apart, but he’s incapable of bringing himself to care. He’s never felt so cared for, so adored and safe with anyone else besides Bev, and it’s different with Hannibal. More intimate.
“Hi, Daddy,” he breathes into Hannibal’s knee, nearly purring in contentment when he hears Hannibal put down his pencil, carding his fingers through Will’s hair. He knows he smells of sweat and the stale air from the plane, but Hannibal doesn’t comment; simply sits in silence and enjoys being together in the same space.
It could be minutes or hours later when Will jerks awake again, realizing he’s fallen asleep leaning against the Dominant’s leg. “Welcome back, darling. A shower is in order, I should think. And then there’s the unfortunate business of your punishment.”
At Will’s inquiring sound and sleepy eyes Hannibal chuckles, pulling Will up by his chin so he’s kneeling, raised up on his knees with his hands resting against Hannibal’s thighs to keep him steady. “Did you think I’d forgotten, sweet boy? You were disobedient last night and we need to address that so that we may move past it without it burdening our dynamic.”
Will nods, knowing Hannibal is right. If he left Will to stew in his guilt for too long the submissive would suffer, their entire dynamic thrown off balance. His Daddy would suffer. And that, more than anything, Will cannot abide.
Hannibal helps him to his feet and leads him to the large bathroom, a shower and a tub here just like in Hannibal’s own home. The show of wealth is nearly obscene in its gaudiness, not as lavish as Hannibal’s but also not as quietly, passively elegant. He’s guided into the tub and leans his head against the basin edge as Hannibal pours some fragrant oils into the water, warm enough nearly to scald - just how Will likes it.
He fades in and out as Hannibal washes him, his hands intimate and familiar over Will’s body, massaging his scalp. It feels nice to be provided for, to have the Dominant care for him so fondly. After being thoroughly doted on, he’s finally wrapped in a fluffy blue towel and left to stand in the center of the room whilst Hannibal rummages through some of his belongings.
“I brought very little with me for such a brief trip, but I believe this will do,” Hannibal turns back to Will, a few of his silk ties in his hands. They haven’t had much opportunity to do full bondage scenes, but Hannibal has put Will in chest harnesses before, or even once bound his wrists together to keep him from fidgeting while they read in his study.
“Have a seat for me, Will. You may keep the towel on for now while we discuss the scene.” It’s already so much different than anything Will has ever known before, his previous experiences fraught with Dominants who only knew how to show their position through fear. Hannibal has never treated Will that way, even the simplest of scenes always discussed fully as equals prior to its occurrence.
Will shuffles onto the soft sheets and picks absently at a thread of the towel wrapped around his gently trembling body. Hannibal sits beside him, placing the objects he’s gathered on the bed between them. Hannibal’s hand settles against Will’s, keeping him still and calming his nerves. Will’s eyes fall to the darkness outside the window and he feels a pang of disappointment that he slept so long and lost so much time with Hannibal.
“A spanking first, with your hands and arms bound and a blindfold over your eyes. Then I’d like to fuck you while you’re still tied up for me, relying on me to provide for your needs. I think a reminder that you can expect me to always do what’s in your best interest, a reminder that you can trust me, is in order.”
Will whines a little, his heart aching that Hannibal would ever believe Will doesn’t trust him implicitly. He knows he’d only even pushed their boundaries last night to test their stability. His previous relationships - if they could even be called such - had foundations built on sand, crumbling away at the slightest pressure. Hannibal is solid bedrock, unshakeable and sturdy. Will knows he can trust his Daddy, and he wants to prove it to him.
“Yes, Daddy.” The words are soft, low, and Hannibal hooks him by the chin again, bringing his face up so their gazes meet.
“Once it’s over it is forgotten, my sweet boy. All is forgiven and we can carry on as we have, stronger for it. I treasure you, Will, and I want you to believe that.”
“I’m sorry -” Will blurts, swallowing down the rest of his words as his cheeks flush at interrupting his Dominant.
Hannibal only smiles, pressing a gentle kiss to Will’s forehead and smoothing his curls back from his eyes. “I know you are. You’re my good boy, always. Sometimes we just need a reminder, and I will always be here when you do.”
The words could sound foreboding, threatening, from any other person. But from Hannibal they simply sound true. Will knows Hannibal will always be there to catch him if he falls, to support him when he needs it. That realization helps some of the tension uncoil in his stomach, his nerves settling just slightly.
“Tell me your colors, darling.”
Will blinks sluggishly at Hannibal for several moments before realizing a response is expected. “Red means stop, yellow means slow down or I need to discuss something, and green means I’m good, we can keep going.”
“And your safeword?” Hannibal prompts once Will goes silent again, and Will shakes himself to try and clear his thoughts. He still feels warm and a little nauseous, his brain slightly fluffy from the prolonged anxiety of his flight and the tension coursing just beneath his skin at being a disappointment to his Dominant.
“Winston,” Will supplies dutifully, a small smile slowly pulling up the corners of his lips as he recalls the dog waiting for him back home. The summer can’t come soon enough.
“And what’s your color right now, Will?”
“Green, Daddy.” Will answers immediately, not really even giving consideration to the question. He’s expected to be good, to give his Daddy his total obedience. He’ll be fine, he’s sure. Feeling groggy and uncomfortable from his flight isn’t an excuse to stall a punishment. Even as he thinks it he knows it isn’t true, knows Hannibal would allow him anything and would never force him into something he wasn’t prepared for. But he shakes it off, shifts closer to Hannibal on the bed.
“Very good, beloved. Come, lay yourself out over my lap.” Hannibal searches Will’s face and seems hesitant, but ultimately he moves to spread his thighs and allow Will the room to move if he so chooses. Warmth floods Will’s chest at the trust but shame sweeps it away; he doesn’t feel worthy of that trust.
Will still crawls into his Daddy’s lap at his behest. His towel is removed in short order, and Hannibal spends a few minutes running his hands along Will’s spine, cupping his ass, soothing down his thighs. Every time Hannibal touches him it feels like he’s memorizing each dip and curve, every inch of his flesh committed to his memory palace like the most precious of treasures. It makes Will flush under the weight of such adoration, his stomach feeling squirmy and his cheeks too hot.
Soon, Hannibal shifts them so he can collect the silk ties from the ornate bedspread. He first wraps Will’s wrists, then another tie goes around his elbows to keep his eyes tied together. Finally, the last tie -- a pale pink silk -- is placed over Will’s eyes and tied behind his head. “Color?” Hannibal checks in one final time, and Will replies helplessly with green even though he’s feeling more and more uncertain with each gentle caress of silk.
And then the first blow hits and the word Winston is pushed from Will’s lungs and past his clenching teeth faster than he’s even able to process it. Faster than he thought possible, not even a fully formed thought before it’s out of his mouth and settling heavy and thick between them.
Hannibal goes still beneath Will and then seconds later he’s scooping him up to sit on his haunches, removing his touch from him in case Will doesn’t want it. “May I touch you?” He asks, always so thoughtful, and Will’s throat feels torn apart by the sob that suddenly wracks his body. He nods shakily and Hannibal moves immediately, collecting him in his arms and wrapping him tight, holding his tear-streaked face against Hannibal’s neck so Will can feel his pulse, desperately trying to match his own heart's cadence to the steady, reliable one in his Daddy’s throat.
“I’m s-sorry, Sir. I didn’t mean to disappoint you again,” Will wails, the sound laden with tears and his throat thick with them. His tongue feels coated in salt and his cheeks are growing tacky with liquid, and still Hannibal keeps Will’s face pressed to his neck without a care for the mess Will is making of them both.
“Enough of that, my love. You’ve not disappointed me at all. I’m unbelievably proud of you for using your word, sweet boy. You have done exactly what I’ve asked of you and trusted me.” Hannibal soothes, running his fingers absently through Will’s curls and down his spine. Will loses himself to counting each stroke for so long that when he blinks his eyes open again, blurred through the film of water collecting at his lash line he’s uncertain how much time has passed.
He sniffs loudly, and Hannibal pulls him away far enough to look into his eyes, but keeps his hands on him, the constant flood of praise and sweet words still falling from his lips but Will is having trouble clinging to any specific one, all of them tumbling together in his cluttered mind. Hannibal takes one of the water bottles he’d preemptively placed on the bedside table and opens it with one hand in order to allow him to keep touching Will, bringing the room-temperature water to his lips and watching him drink dutifully, speaking to him as he swallows.
“You have performed wonderfully, beloved. You are perfect for me. I’m honored to have your trust. That you used your word for me is breathtaking. You’re exceptional.” Hannibal presses the words to Will’s temple, to his earlobe as he tucks some errant curls behind it. He kisses the streaks left behind by his tears away, leaning over to collect the towel and using it to clean Will’s face before turning them onto their sides to spoon, pulling the blanket over them.
It’s warm and pleasant beneath the heavy sheets and with his body pressed firmly to the mattress by Hannibal’s steadying weight. The rise and fall of Hannibal’s chest is a lifeline Will clings to, letting his own breathing fall into the same pattern until he feels as though his lungs are no longer aching with deprivation.
He doesn’t know how long they just exist like that, but finally he coughs, wincing when it feels like sandpaper dragging across his dry throat and tongue. Hannibal responds immediately, reaching out for the water again, all the while keeping his broad palm against Will’s hip. Will drinks again, this time with his eyes locked onto Hannibal’s, and his brain feeling less fuzzy, more centered in the moment instead of stuck up in the sky still on the plane.
He’s suddenly unbelievably embarrassed, certain Hannibal thinks him absolutely ridiculous for breaking down over the mere suggestion of a spanking. He tries to explain himself, but the words keep getting caught behind the cage of his teeth. Finally, at Hannibal’s continued calm, resolute patience, Will sighs and squeezes his eyes shut, unable to look at him as he speaks.
“I, uh, I’ve only ever flown once before and it wasn’t a good experience. I try to avoid flying as a general rule because I’m always worried I’ll have a panic attack.” He pauses, sighing softly when Hannibal takes his hand and presses it to his own chest so he can still feel the steady beat of it beneath Hannibal’s shirt; constant, stable.
“I was just so happy to see you, I guess I didn’t realize I wasn’t in the best headspace from being afraid.. . I know it’s unreasonable for me to have missed you so much when you’ve been gone a mere handful of days, but I have. I do.” Will flushes brilliant pink at the raw honesty, a little whimper escaping his throat.
“You’re overwhelmed,” Hannibal observes, and though Will still has his eyes closed, he can feel Hannibal’s gaze. He melts into the other man’s touch when he cups Will’s face, his thumb brushing gently against the arch of his cheek. “I am truly so proud of you, Will. It’s part of my duties as your Dominant to gauge your state and determine your readiness for a scene, and I failed to see the signs of your distress in my own joy at simply having you in my presence. For that, I am sorry. However, you’ve given me the greatest gift in your continued trust, and in your use of your safe word in a moment of need.”
Will opens his eyes at that, and his breath catches in his throat at the bare truth in Hannibal’s eyes. He flushes, suddenly wanting to hide away from the intensity of Hannibal’s regard while simultaneously wanting to lavish in it forever. He knows he needs to tell Hannibal the rest, though, the thoughts that linger like a sleeping dragon at the edges of his every thought. It was time for full disclosure so they could grow stronger. Together.
“Hannibal, I -” he chokes back a sob, fresh tears salting his lashes and streaking down red cheeks.
“Take your time, sweet boy. Whatever it is, we'll work through it together. We’ll be alright.” Hannibal sounds so sure, so confident in his fondness for Will; in their connection. It gives Will the boost he needs to come clean.
He feels like he should be ashamed for still being so impacted by events from his past, but he wants to let them go. He needs to move forward and be happy. With Hannibal.
“I know we haven’t talked much about my past Dominants. And what I have told you will probably make this pretty obvious. But, uh, I haven’t had the best experiences with being a submissive, especially regarding bondage and being blindfolded.” He swallows heavily, looking directly into warm amber eyes. Hannibal’s steady gaze gives him the strength he needs to carry on.
“One of my Dominants liked to tie me up and blindfold me and leave me alone for hours at a time. Sometimes he’d just leave me on a bed, arms and legs tied to the frame. Sometimes he’d put me in a closet, in the dark, and tie me up in increasingly uncomfortable positions.” He hesitates, but he wants to continue. He feels like he needs to exorcise the dark memories.
“Once, he tied me to the rafters with my toes barely touching the ground and he just left me like that until I nearly passed out. And he would always blindfold me as a punishment because he knew it only overwhelmed me more. My empathy - the way I connect with the world - is so visual, but it’s also an amalgam of all my senses. Removing one sense only makes the others work overtime, leaves me feeling unmoored; my thoughts chaotic and terrifying.”
“Oh, my darling. You’ve been through so much and yet you’ve persevered. You’ve overcome more in your short years than some do in an entire lifetime. I’ve always known you were strong, powerful, capable. Now I see you’re tenacious and triumphant.” Hannibal kisses his forehead chastely, not yet willing to stop talking it seemed.
“What that Dominant did to you was wrong, Will. Your limits should never have been disregarded; your safewords never left to fall ignored on uncaring ears. He was cruel and not at all what a Dominant should be.”
“I know that. I know. It took me a little while but I finally realized he was the one in the wrong. And with you… sometimes it feels like so much. I’ve never been so happy or felt so cared for. So safe and so loved -” he stills, entire body growing taut at the accidental slip.
Hannibal’s smile is bright enough to rival all the stars in the sky. “My sweet submissive. Will, I’ve loved you since the first moment I saw you. I’ve only been waiting for you to realize it.” He laughs, pulling Will close and showering his lips and cheeks with kisses.
“I love you too...if it wasn’t obvious.” Will’s blush spreads down his throat and across his chest, but he’s never been happier. He feels like he has bubbles in his chest and they’re all threatening to burst with the weight of his joy.
Hannibal settles them back down, then, pulling Will against his chest and leaning over to grab the bottle of water one more time. “Let’s get some sleep, my love. We have an early flight tomorrow.”
Will cuddles as close as possible, molding himself to Hannibal’s side. He loves him. And Hannibal loves him in return. He can’t imagine anything better than just this; falling asleep loved and held in the arms of his Daddy.
“Goodnight, Daddy. I love you.” He whispers into the shadows gathering in Hannibal’s collarbone, night settling in fully outside. He can’t be certain as his eyes grow heavy and close, eyelashes fanning out like spiders’ legs across his cheeks, but he thinks he hears a rumbling purr of contentment and Hannibal’s soft, accented voice purring lovingly in another language; words he can’t translate but understands anyway.
---
Will personally thinks he performs admirably while weaving through the airport, a throng of bodies pressed far too close and stealing his breath. His lungs are burning by the time he and Hannibal reach pre-boarding, and his fingers are tapping a random, nervous cadence against his jean-clad thigh while they wait.
He doesn’t start to shake until their luggage has been stowed in the overhead bins and the seat belt light flickers to life. It’s just a fine tremor in his hands at first but it quickly spreads until he’s shivering in his seat like a fearful prey animal caught in the sights of a predator.
It’s worse, somehow, than it had been when he’d flown the day prior. He’d been on such a high; the knowledge he’d get to see Hannibal -- to touch him -- overwhelming enough it had kept him from having a panic attack. Now, all he has is Hannibal’s firm hand on his, keeping him grounded in place.
“Will?” Hannibal asks, low and inquiring. Worried. Will feels bad for worrying his Dominant over something so silly. People fly every single day without the dramatics, why can’t Will? He doesn’t respond right away, he can’t, but Hannibal doesn’t press him, simply squeezing his thigh encouragingly.
“It’s not always this bad,” Will manages a self-deprecating laugh and Hannibal steps in immediately, unwilling to listen to Will being cruel to himself most likely, but Will’s also sure he’s concerned by the insecurity he can hear in his own shaky words.
Hannibal places a palm to the nape of Will’s neck, elegant fingers sliding through his sweaty curls and coming to rest gently along the curve of his throat. It’s partially the same as scruffing a scared animal, Will knows, but Hannibal’s also checking his pulse; ensuring Will doesn’t fling himself head first into cardiac arrest, he’s certain.
“What do you need, my darling boy?” Hannibal keeps his voice soft, placating, and that, combined with the word my has Will whimpering. It’s such a small, broken sound, and he clutches Hannibal’s thighs until his knuckles go white and start to ache from the pressure.
He doesn’t reply for so long his thoughts start to go hazy. Then Hannibal tightens his grip on Will’s neck and he collapses into the hold, his entire body going lax and pliant. He counts the breaths between each second, his pulse thrumming at a gallop in his throat, and swallows.
“You, Daddy. I just need to be as close as possible. Could I - “ he stops himself, feeling absurd, but Hannibal makes a curious noise and massages into Will’s straining muscles. He clears his throat, embarrassed, but works through it and locks his gaze with Hannibal’s, a level of calm certainty taking him over. He knows now that Hannibal loves him; knows he’d give him anything in the world -- if only Will would ask for it.
So, he asks.
“I want to warm you, Sir. For as much of the flight as possible; at least until I feel more calm and in control, more myself -”
Hannibal stops him with a kiss, the pride and adoration evident in the soft corners of his whiskey eyes. Will flushes under the weight of that gaze, it’s a heady, heavy thing to be granted Hannibal’s regard; Will loves it. More than he ever imagined he would.
“Of course, my good boy. I’m so proud of you, thank you for asking so bravely for what you need.” Hannibal’s free hand moves to the front of his pants, nearly about to start the process of opening them when Will lets out a little whimpering growl. He sounds like a wounded animal, and he blushes again, color permanently staining his cheeks.
Hannibal stops, a painfully fond smile quirking up his lips. He sits, always patient, assessing and waiting for Will to ask.
“May I, Daddy?” The words are so saccharine they taste like sugar water on his tongue. If he heard them from anyone else he’d think the submissive was faking, but all he feels in this moment is a blissful, open surrender and the beginnings of peace settling in at the frazzled corners of his mind.
If Hannibal’s emotional gaze is anything to go off of, Will would say his Dominant is equally moved by Will’s genuine sincerity; the both of them settling briefly into this moment before. A moment where they can each be who they are with no structure or form. Just two men who love one another and find comfort in that care and intimacy.
Hannibal removes his hand with a gentle huff of laughter, gesturing for Will to proceed. He leans back in his chair, all leonine elegance as the attendant walks by and he smiles at her. Her own mossy eyes are soft as she watches Will pull Hannibal free from his slacks with focused care, public displays common. Will reassures himself they’re not the first or most likely even the hundredth couple she’s watched conduct a scene on a plane due to nerves.
Will worships Hannibal with his eyes first, pupils most likely blowing wide and ink-pot black as he leans close. The scent of Hannibal; musk and cloves and comfort nearly overwhelms Will all over again, his vision blurring as tears leak from the corners of his eyes. When he unzips him it’s with reverence, his oral fixation bringing saliva pooling against his tongue and bliss filling his mind like cotton.
He looks up at Hannibal from beneath long lashes, and if Hannibal’s gaze is any indication, the aesthetic must be an appealing one. Will knows what he looks like; small and pretty, long curls framing his flushed cheeks. It gives him an extra burst of confidence where usually he might be self conscious, the arousal evident in Hannibal’s bourbon eyes enough to compel him forward.
He darts his tongue out first, wet and pink and so very desperate, sampling and savoring Hannibal’s musky flavor at his slit. He doesn’t tease him long, wanting him to stay soft so he can warm him through as much of the flight as possible.
Will hums appreciatively, settling into Hannibal’s lap and already feeling lighter, the closeness of his Dominant enough to provide him with the security he needs to soothe his nerves. Hannibal’s cock feels like a lifeline, Will’s mind going serene and calm now that he’s proving himself useful, so intimately connected to Hannibal.
Hannibal had done a wonderful job of talking Will down the night before, but even still, Will’s sleep had been dreamless and hadn’t left him feeling well rested. Something about the weight of his Daddy against his tongue and filling his mouth, and the feel of gentle fingers running through his unruly curls lulls him into somewhere between sleep and waking.
Will is vaguely aware when Hannibal unbuckles him and guides him so softly onto his knees between Hannibal’s thighs, his mouth never needing to detach from his Daddy’s cock. He isn’t even aware of the plane stabilizing in the air, the people shuffling around them, or any of the announcements over the system, too caught up in their bubble.
He suckles, instinctively, from time to time, and he hears the soft groans of his Dominant with each hollowing pull of his cheeks, drops of salty, flavorful pre-come coating his tongue and only causing him to swallow further. Hannibal’s willpower would be impressive if Will were more focused and aware, the man never once growing too hard to stay comfortably in Will’s worshipful mouth.
Will feels a sense of absolution, of rightness, as he provides this simple yet incredibly intimate service to the man he loves. Nothing, not the potential worries awaiting them on the other end of their flight, or even the plane itself, could pull Will out of his bliss at this point, and he sighs contentedly as his eyes remain closed and his breaths even out, sleep pulling him down as gently as the caress of Hannibal’s fingers against his jaw.
It’s minutes, hours, days later when Will is roused from his subspace, his Daddy’s soothing hands stroking more insistently across his cheekbones, along his temples. Will blinks up blearily at his Dominant, warmed by the fond expression stretched across his lips, in the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“It’s time to come back, darling. You need to be in your own seat for our descent.”
Will blinks again and swallows the saliva that had pooled in his mouth in his haze with a soft whine. Hannibal’s smile stretches, his thumb swiping away the spittle that had leaked down Will’s chin. “I know, darling. You were so good for me. I think I’d like to reward you this evening once I have you home. Up, now,” he commands with a gentle murmur, and then his hands are slipping beneath Will’s arms and urging him up.
Will goes like a limp doll, deposited heavily back into his seat by soft hands and soothing words. He blinks and gazes at the seat in front of him, attempting to place the hideous fabric pattern and interpret the images flashing on the unused screen. A moment later, Hannibal’s soft chuckle meets his ears like music, and then his Daddy’s hands are at his waist, stretching across him, securing the belt in his lap. He’s vaguely aware of the soft chime, alerting all other passengers to fasten their seatbelts. He hears a woman speaking over the intercom, saying something about Dulles Airport, but doesn’t truly comprehend it, nor does he care to.
He thinks he might float forever, warm and numb in a husk of himself, and be utterly happy for it. And then the plane begins its descent.
Will's breath hitches at the first tilt of the plane downwards, his hands snapping to his sides to grip his armrests. It feels like a sudden plunge, as though he’s reached the apex of a rollercoaster and is about to plummet into nothing, though logically he knows the process isn’t as sudden or violent as all that. But coming from the security of subspace, the glorious feeling of being used and appreciated by his Dominant and jarred back into reality, Will can’t stop the trembling groan that squeezes through his clenched teeth.
Hannibal's hand is warm and solid on the back of his neck, guiding his head toward where their seats join, and he presses his forehead to Will's.
"Look at me, beloved," he murmurs, and it's only then that Will realizes he's squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that colors burst into the blackness. "Will," Hannibal speaks again, his voice with that familiar edge of loving sternness. "Look at me."
Will blinks open his eyes to the sight of ruddy amber, staring intently into the heart of him, carving out a place all his own -- "It's still just you and me, love. Only you and me." Will nods and allows himself to be pulled closer still, meets his Dominant's soft press of lips with a rapturous sense of belonging .
“Daddy --” Will whimpers between the joining of their mouths, and Hannibal nods and presses close once more.
“I know, my darling,” he murmurs between soft kisses. “I have you. And if I have you, that means you’ll be okay, doesn’t it? Don’t I always care for you as you need?”
“Yes,” Will sighs, melting into his Dominant’s embrace. He’d be surprised at how quickly he was slipping into subspace once more, just from Hannibal’s soft, assuring words and confident touch, if it weren’t for the still lingering pleasant haze of their scene throughout the flight. “I trust you,” Will murmurs, reaching out to grasp at Hannibal’s lapels, tugging him closer, smoothing up to grip his broad, powerful shoulders. “I love you. I think I’ll always love you, no matter how this ends.”
“Who’s to say this will end?” Hannibal questions. His voice is soft as his lips travel from Will’s own to trace along the tears that streak his cheeks, but he doesn’t sound offended by the implication, nor worried in the least that it may come to pass. “Nothing will pull me from you, Will. Nothing. And not a force on this earth can pull you from me.”
It’s a bold statement to make, even bolder still than their declarations of love after such a brief period of knowing one another. It’s almost dark in its possessiveness, a feral, claiming sort of declaration, but Will believes him entirely, and only feels comfort in it.
As he gazes into his Dominant’s eyes, enraptured by his Daddy’s love, the plane touches down. And for the first time in his life, Will feels like the ground is solid beneath him.