Archive of Our Own

Hannibal didn’t move at first. He simply looked at him, really looked, eyes tracing the anger in Will’s posture, the tremor in his breath, the defiance that was already half-surrender.

“Will” he said softly, “if it feels like a sin, it’s only because you were taught to fear what you truly want.”

Will swallowed hard. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one that matters.” Hannibal stepped closer, slow enough to give him time to pull away—Will didn’t. “Desire isn’t wrong. Denial is.”

Will felt heat crawl up his spine. “You think that’s going to convince me?”

“I think,” Hannibal murmured, tilting his head just slightly toward him, “that you wouldn’t be trembling if you truly believed desiring me was a mistake.”

Will exhaled sharply, the sound almost a surrender, almost a curse.

“Hannibal…”

“Yes, Will?”

“Keep talking.”

"Every time you say my name like that..." Hannibal said, voice a velvet murmur, "it sounds less like a warning and more like a prayer."

He didn't touch him—not yet—but the space between them hummed with the promise of it.

"You don't want me to stop, do you?" 

A knowing smile flickered. 

"Good. Because I've only just begun to tell you how beautifully you burn."

Hannibal's fingers ghosted up Will's arm, leaving a trail of electric friction in their wake. Will's breath hitched, betraying how hard he was trying to keep his composure.

"You're fighting yourself again." Hannibal said softly, closing the distance between them. "Why must you resist what feels right, Will?"

Their eyes locked, caught in a battle of wills. Will's defiance crumbled, his resolve weakening with each word. There was a heat in Hannibal's gaze that made his knees threaten to buckle; a heat that threatened to consume him whole, and damn if he didn't want that.

"Damn you." he muttered, the words half curse, half prayer.

Hannibal's thumb found Will's jaw, lightly tracing the line of it. Will inhaled sharply, and for moment, Hannibal was sure he would pull away. Instead, he leaned into the touch, his body betraying his own resistance.

"Your words say no." Hannibal murmured, his breath grazing Will's cheek. "But your body speaks a different language entirely."

"You're so good at reading people..." Will whispered, voice frayed at the edges. "But right now... I don't want to be read. I want to be known."

Hannibal stilled.

A flicker—something deep, something rare—passed behind his eyes. Not triumph. Not calculation.

Recognition.

"Then stop hiding." he said softly, almost reverently. "Let me see you, Will."

Will's breath hitched again, this time from a sharp, raw fear. For a moment, he looked like he would bolt, his gaze darting anywhere but at Hannibal. Then, finally, his eyes met Hannibal's once more, the walls slowly lowering.

"You're asking me to be vulnerable." he said, his voice rough. "To lay myself bare. That scares the hell out of me, Hannibal."

"I know." Hannibal murmured, his thumb tracing the line of Will's jaw once more, almost soothingly. "But vulnerability doesn't have to equate weakness, Will. It's courage. It's trust."

He leaned in, their foreheads nearly touching. "Trust me."

The words hung in the air, heavy with implications. For a moment, Will was silent, his body still taut and uncertain. Then, slowly, he exhaled, the sound almost a sigh.

"You make it sound so easy..." he murmured, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a brief, shaky smile. "But I swear to God, if you break me—"

"I won't."

The certainty in Hannibal's voice, the promise behind the words, was almost palpable. It made another shudder run through Will, a wave of heat and something like... anticipation.

"You have my word." Hannibal continued, his fingers now tracing a path up Will's neck.

This time, Will didn't resist. He didn't pull away as Hannibal's thumb grazed over his pulse point, his eyes darkening.

The game was shifting now. The rules were changing.

Hannibal’s thumb hovered just above Will’s lower lip—close enough to feel the warmth of his breath, the faintest tremor in his stillness. It didn’t press, didn’t claim. Not yet.

It waited.

A silent question drawn in skin and space. The invitation had to come from Will. The surrender, the trust—it had to be offered freely.

And so Hannibal remained: poised, patient, a predator who’d learned the exquisite art of stillness.

The air between them thickened with unspoken desire—the kind that doesn't roar, but unravels.

Will leaned in, his breath warm against Hannibal’s thumb. His lips parted slightly—just enough—and for a heartbeat, the world stilled.

Then, slowly… deliberately… he exhaled against the pad of Hannibal’s thumb.

An invitation whispered without words.

Hannibal's eyes darkened—something ancient and certain stirring within them.

"Good boy." he murmured.

The praise—so simple, so unexpected—sent a shiver up Will's spine. He should have bristled at the words; should have felt infantilized, reduced, diminished.

Instead, he felt… grounded. Anchored. Anchored in a way he'd never known.

He closed his eyes, leaning slightly into the gentle touch. Hannibal's thumb grazed lower, exploring the curve of Will's lip, the edge of his jaw.

"Tell me" Hannibal murmured, voice like silk over steel, "what you want."

The question wasn't casual. It was a key—offered, not forced. A threshold.

Will swallowed hard. His pulse jumped beneath skin already humming with anticipation.

"I—" His voice cracked, raw and unsteady. He exhaled sharply through his nose. Then opened his eyes, dark with surrender and something dangerously close to hunger.

"I want to stop thinking."

A beat.

"...And start feeling."

Hannibal inhaled deeply, the motion almost involuntary.

Will's request—no, not a request; an admission, a plea—hit him like a blow. It stirred something primitive, something possessive within him.

Something that made him want to claim, to take…to consume.

He forced the desire back, his gaze never leaving Will's face.

"You're sure?" he asked softly, his thumb brushing the underside of Will's jaw.

"God, yes." The word came out almost as a gasp, the last remnants of Will's resistance shattering.

That was all Hannibal needed. In a single, fluid movement, his hand moved up to cup the back of Will's head. His fingers carded through the soft curls, holding Will firmly in place as he closed the last bit of distance between them.

The kiss was slow, deliberate. A claiming, in every sense. It stole the air from Will's lungs, the world from his thoughts, until all that remained was the taste of Hannibal's mouth and the heat between them.

Will groaned against him, the sound more plea than protest. He reached up, fingers digging into Hannibal's shoulders, pulling him closer until they were pressed firmly together.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent. It stoked the fire that had been burning low in Will's gut, fanning it into a wildfire. He forgot about everything else—about fear, about hesitation. There was only hunger now, and an overwhelming need for…more.

When they finally broke apart, they were both trembling.

For a moment, they simply stood there, clinging to each other, breaths mingling in the heated space between them. Will's head swam with a dizzying cocktail of desire and disbelief. He'd wanted this, wanted Hannibal, for so long, and now that he had him...it felt surreal, like a dream.

"God..." he rasped, his fingers still clutching Hannibal's shirt. "That was—"

A low, possessive sound rumbled in Hannibal's throat. "Not enough."

Hannibal’s hands slid down Will’s sides, slow and deliberate, leaving trails of heat in their wake. His lips brushed Will’s ear, voice a dark whisper.

“Not nearly enough.”

Will shuddered—full-body, involuntary—and let out a breath that was almost a whimper. He tilted his head, baring his neck without thought.

Hannibal smiled.

And pressed his mouth just below the hinge of Will’s jaw.

A promise.

A prelude.

The beginning.

Will's knees nearly buckled as Hannibal's mouth trailed down his neck, exploring with a maddening slowness. Every touch sent jolts of pleasure coursing through him, each one more intense than the last. Will's fingers gripped Hannibal's shoulders tighter, desperately trying to anchor himself against the onslaught of sensation.

"Hannibal..." he gasped, half plea, half warning. "God, please—"

"Patience..." Hannibal murmured against his skin, his lips tracing a line of slow, devastating kisses. "I'm far from done with you yet."

Will groaned, the sound more surrender than objection. If this was Hannibal's idea of foreplay, he was in serious trouble. So, so much trouble.

But goddamn, it felt so right.

Hannibal's hands found their way under Will's shirt, roaming freely over the expanse of bare skin. Will's body responded without his permission, arching into the touch, seeking more.

"I could spend hours doing this." Hannibal mused aloud, teeth grazing a sensitive spot just above Will's collarbone. "Teasing, tasting, toying with you."

Will's knees threatened to give out again.

Will let out a broken moan, his head falling back as Hannibal's teeth scraped over sensitive skin. The world narrowed to sensation—heat, pressure, the slow burn coiling deep in his gut.

"Then stop talking about it." he managed, voice ragged, fingers tightening in Hannibal’s hair. "And do it."

Hannibal stilled—just for a breath.

Then he smiled.

"Such impatience..." His voice dropped to a whisper. "How deliciously human of you."

And with that, he kissed him again—deep, claiming, unstoppable—as if sealing a fate neither of them would ever try to escape.

Will's world spun, his back hitting a wall—when had they moved? He didn't care. All that mattered was the way Hannibal was devouring him, the possessive, almost violent intensity of his kisses.

Will gave as good as he got. His hands roamed freely, his body moving as if on instinct. All the pent-up desire, the frustration and want that had simmered just beneath the surface since he'd met Hannibal was finally given free rein.

It was feral, desperate, and… liberating.

Will's voice wavered, raw with need.

"I want you to touch me." he whispered, words caught between a plea and a demand. "I want you to take all of me, every goddamn inch."

His hips arched involuntarily, pressing into Hannibal's touch, aching for more.

"Please." he gasped, "Don't make me beg."

Something dark flickered across Hannibal's face, something possessive and primal. Hunger.

"Oh, but I think I'd like you to beg for it." he murmured, lips tracing a slow path up Will's throat. "Just once."

Will groaned, the sound more plea than objection. He was teetering on the edge now, his body a live wire of need. A part of him wanted to resist, to fight for control.

"But I want you to." His voice was soft, dangerous. "Say it, Will. Tell me what happens when you let go."

Will's breath hitched. His pulse thundered in his ears.

"Fine." he whispered, jaw tight with defiance—and desire. "I want your hands on me... I want your mouth everywhere... I want to feel you—inside me—until I can't remember my own name."

A beat.

"...I want to belong to you."

Hannibal's eyes darkened with satisfaction.

"Perfect."

Will's words hung heavy in the air, an erotic confession whispered in the heat of the moment.

Hannibal let out a low, guttural sound that was part growl, part chuckle. "Oh, you'll belong to me." His hands slid lower, fingers teasing the waistband of Will's pants. "Every inch of you."

He closed the remaining distance slowly, his body pressing firmly into Will's. "And I'm going to make damn sure you never forget who owns you."

Will's head swam at the possessive claim. The thrill of surrender, of being completely undone, was both terrifying and intoxicating.

He wanted to resist, to hold onto some semblance of control... But one look at Hannibal's eyes made him realize it was too late. He was already falling—hard, fast, and willingly.

He opened his mouth to respond, but all that came out was a strangled, shuddering gasp as Hannibal's fingers brushed the sensitive skin beneath his navel.

"You're so close to breaking..." Hannibal murmured, his voice velvet-wrapped steel. "All those carefully constructed walls... crumbling at a single touch."

His fingers dipped lower, teasing the edge of Will's waistband—just enough to make him tremble.

"Tell me you want it." he whispered. "Tell me you want me to break you."

Will's breath caught in his throat. Every word, every touch, was like a jolt to his nerve endings. He could feel the last vestiges of his control fraying, on the verge of snapping.

"You know I do." he whispered, the words a ragged admission. "I've tried to deny it, to pretend I don't need—want—this. But I can't fight it anymore."

He forced himself to meet Hannibal's gaze, his eyes dark with need and surrender.

"I want you. Every goddamn inch of you."

"Good boy."

The words, spoken softly against his skin, were both praise and command. Will trembled, his body responding instinctively.

Then Hannibal's hands moved, deftly unbuttoning his shirt. The fabric fell open, slowly revealing the planes of Will's chest—rising and falling with every ragged breath. Hannibal's eyes, dark with hunger, traced the contours, as if mapping out a territory he intended to claim.

"Gorgeous." he murmured, touch light as a whisper.

Will trembled under Hannibal's gaze, every nerve alight. The warmth of his touch sent electric pulses through him, his breath hitching as those skilled hands continued their slow exploration.

"You're making it impossible to think." he whispered, voice breaking.

"Good." Hannibal replied, leaning in close, lips brushing Will's ear. "I don't want you to think anymore."

His hand slid lower—past the waistband this time—fingers curling with deliberate intent.

"Only feel."

A gasp escaped Will's lips, his hips canting involuntarily. He was unraveling in Hannibal's hands, his body betraying his every attempt to maintain any semblance of composure.

"God..." He shivered, closing his eyes. Every nerve ending buzzed, alive and over-sensitized. "Please—"

"Please what?" Hannibal asked, his voice a teasing purr.

Will groaned, frustration and desire mixing in equal measure. "You know damn well what."

Hannibal chuckled, a low, dangerous sound that sent another shiver down Will's spine. He seemed to enjoy watching Will unravel—every gasp and whimper drawing a satisfied smirk.

"I do." he agreed, hand still dangerously close to where he knew Will hungered the most. "But I'm going to draw it out of you."

Another languid stroke, slower than it had any right to be.

"Every... little... beg..."

Will groaned, his hands balling into fists as he fought to keep himself from begging. But with every touch, every torturous moment of anticipation, his resolve crumbled just a little more.

His body was a live wire, thrumming with need. He wanted to give in, to surrender completely... But he couldn't let Hannibal win that easily.

"You're evil." he gasped out, his voice strained. "You're enjoying this far too much."

"Guilty as charged."

Hannibal's thumb flicked over a particularly sensitive spot, and Will inhaled sharply, unable to suppress a soft moan.

"I'm simply appreciating the beautiful sight before me." Hannibal said, his voice a sinful purr. "Watching you come apart, begging for my touch... it's better than any art."

Will's hands fumbled at the clasp of his trousers, his fingers trembling with impatience. It was a desperate, almost frantic gesture, motivated by sheer need.

He was hard beneath the fabric, aching for release, and every second that passed only heightened his hunger. His body, already hyper-aware of Hannibal's every move, seemed to thrum with anticipation.

"I... I need—"

His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. The words caught in his throat, his body taut like a coiled spring.

"I know what you need." Hannibal murmured, voice dripping with sinful promises. His fingers curled into Will's waistband, the gesture possessive and commanding.

"But you're still not begging, are you?"

Will let out a groan of frustration mixed with desire. He wanted to give in, to let go and surrender to that all-consuming need. But his pride, his stubborn defiance, held on by a thread.

"You're insane." he gasped, head thrown back as he leaned into Hannibal's touch.

Hannibal smiled, the gesture dark and dangerous. "And you love it."

He hooked his fingers into the fabric, pulling Will closer. The proximity only heightened the tension between them, the air around them crackling with an almost dangerous amount of electricity.

"Come now," he whispered, voice low and seductive. "Beg me."

Will groaned again, his resolve crumbling under the assault of sensations. He wanted, needed... craved more than he could put into words.

"Please..." he finally gasped out, voice cracking with need. "Please, Hannibal..."

But Hannibal just chuckled, his grip remaining firm. "Please what, Will?"

Will gritted his teeth, struggling with his pride. But the heat building between them was too damn intense to resist. He needed this, needed Hannibal's touch more than air.

"Please," he repeated, the words a ragged plea. "Touch me."

With a satisfied hum, Hannibal finally relented.

Touch.

With deft, practiced motions, his hand slipped under the waistband. Will let out a ragged moan, his hips arching involuntarily into the touch.

He'd been teetering on the edge of control for so long, and now, finally, he was falling—fast, hard, and completely undone.

"God..." he gasped out, fingers clutching at Hannibal's shirt, "You're going to be the death of me."

"And what a way to die..." Hannibal murmured, his touch maddeningly slow, almost torturous.

He loved seeing Will like this, reduced to a shuddering mess by his touch alone. The way he gasped, shivered, and moaned... It was a symphony of pleasure, and Hannibal was the maestro conducting every note.

"You look beautiful when you break." he whispered, his breath hot against Will's ear. "And you're so very close to shattering completely."

Will groaned, his head spinning from the onslaught of sensation. Every nerve ending felt like it was on fire, his body trembling as Hannibal continued his torturous assault.

"Goddamn you..." he gasped, nails digging into Hannibal's shoulder. "Don't stop. Don't you dare stop."

He was teetering on the edge of oblivion, his body desperate for release. But even in the midst of pleasure, something dark and possessive flared in his chest.

"I want you," he whispered, voice rough with need. "I want to make you break, too."

Hannibal stilled, a dark thrill flashing through his eyes. He hadn't expected that—a challenge, even in surrender. Will's defiance, even at this moment of raw vulnerability, was intoxicating.

"Is that so?" Hannibal purred, tightening his grip just slightly—enough to make Will gasp. "Then show me."

He leaned in close until their lips were almost touching, breath mingling in the heated space between them.

"But be careful." he whispered silkily. "You might get what you wish for."

Hannibal’s breath caught—just for a fraction of a second.

A crack in the mask. A flicker of surprise, quickly veiled by something far more dangerous: delight.

“You...” he murmured, voice low and rich as aged wine, “are full of surprises.”

His fingers curled possessively at Will’s hip. “But let me be clear—I don’t break, Will.”

He leaned in until their lips brushed with every word.

“I consume.”

Then, with slow intent, he reversed their positions—pinning Will to the wall in one fluid motion—proving with strength and silence that this game had only just begun… and Hannibal was always two steps ahead.

Will laughed breathlessly—a raw, ragged sound laced with adrenaline and desire. "Then let me be the first." he challenged, arching into Hannibal’s hold despite the pressure of being pinned.

His hands slid up Hannibal's chest, fingers curling into his shirt. "Let me consume you."

For a moment, they simply stared at each other—two predators circling in the dark heat of their own making. The air was thick with challenge and promise.

Will didn't know if he'd win this battle... but damn if he wouldn't enjoy trying.

Hannibal's smile was a slow, dangerous thing—all teeth and dark promise.

He leaned in, lips brushing against Will's ear with a heated whisper. "Be careful what you ask for, my dear Will." he said softly—an edge of danger, a hint of warning. "You might not like what you find."

Hannibal's fingers slid from Will's hip, tracing a tantalizing path along his waistband. "But then again..." He nipped at Will's earlobe, drawing a sharp gasp. "...perhaps you will."

Will's fingers trembled with a mixture of eager anticipation and desire. He wanted, needed, to feel skin against skin.

With shaky hands, he began unbuttoning Hannibal's shirt, his gaze never leaving his. Once the shirt was unbuttoned, he slid his hands underneath, splaying his fingers across the firm muscles of Hannibal's chest.

"You're so Goddamn handsome." he murmured, his voice thick with want. "How is it you get sexier every time I see you?"

Hannibal exhaled sharply—almost a laugh, almost a groan—as Will’s hands mapped his chest with fevered intent. The touch was reverent and ravenous all at once, igniting something deep in his core.

“You’re dangerously good at that.” he murmured, voice rougher than silk now. “Keep going.”

Will smirked—a rare flash of confidence—and pushed the shirt from Hannibal’s shoulders, letting it fall to the floor. His hands returned instantly, tracing the lines of muscle and scar tissue like he was reading a sacred text.

“I’ve imagined this...” Will admitted in a low rasp. “Too many times to count.”

Hannibal stilled—then slowly smiled.

“Good.” he purred. “Then let me give you something far better than fantasy.”

And with that, his mouth crashed down on Will’s—hard, hungry, inescapable—as if sealing their fate in heat and motion.

The sound of their clothes hitting the floor was almost obscene in the heated silence. They were both panting now, desire and need coiled tight in their veins.

Will's eyes darkened as he took in the sight of Hannibal—all muscles and smooth skin, every inch of him a masterpiece. He wanted to touch, to taste, to have.

His hands slid to the waistband of Hannibal's briefs.

"Can I...?" he whispered, the question thick with want.

Hannibal's breath hitched at the words, anticipation thrumming in his chest. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, his eyes locked on Will's—watching, waiting.

Trusting.

Will didn't need more than that.

He slowly slid the briefs down, revealing more and more of Hannibal's body with each inch of retreating fabric. When they dropped to the floor, Will had to swallow hard, his throat suddenly dry.

"God..." he managed, voice rough and hoarse. "You're... stunning."

Hannibal's breath caught at the raw want in Will's voice; at the way his eyes raked over every inch of him. A part of him still held back, still expected judgment—but with Will, there was only hunger and appreciation.

"You're not so bad yourself..." he murmured, his own gaze gliding over Will's body with undisguised appreciation. His hands found Will's thighs, fingers tracing the firm muscles with a possessive touch. "But I think you're a tad over-dressed for the occasion, my dear."

Will let out a huff of laughter that quickly turned into a gasp as Hannibal's hands moved higher, teasingly close to where he ached the most.

"Touché." he murmured, voice cracking slightly as he fought to control himself. He reached for his own pants, but Hannibal's hands stopped him, stilling his movements with a firm grip.

"Allow me." he whispered, his voice a silky command.

Will bit his lip, nodding. He was powerless to resist that tone... and he knew it.

Hannibal's smile was a dangerous thing—full of teeth and promise. He stepped even closer, their bodies almost flush together now. He could feel the heat radiating off Will, the tremble in his muscles as he fought to stay still. It was intoxicating.

He took his time, his hands moving torturously slowly across Will's body, fingers ghosting over every sensitive spot. Will let out a strangled sound, his hands clenching into fists.

"You're a goddamned tease..." he gasped out, words almost strangled with need.

The first brush of skin on skin—hot, hard, aching—sent a shared jolt through them both. Will gasped, his entire body shuddering as their lengths slid together, slick and fevered. It was too much and not enough all at once.

Hannibal’s breath caught low in his throat—a rare sound of unguarded pleasure—and for just a heartbeat, the mask slipped. His eyes fluttered shut, lashes fanning against flushed cheeks.

They rocked into it instinctively: slow at first, then deeper with each roll of hips—the friction unbearable in its perfection. Every movement sent fire licking up their spines.

Will’s fingers clawed at Hannibal’s back like he was trying to hold himself together even as he unraveled.

“H-Hannibal…” he choked out—half plea, half prayer—as another wave of sensation crashed through him.

And Hannibal… Hannibal only held on tighter.

Because control could wait.

Right now, there was only this—the heat between them undeniable… unholy.

There was something primal in the way their bodies moved—no rhythm, no thought, just instinct. They were like a single entity, a wildfire consuming everything in its path.

Their breaths came in ragged gasps, mingling as they leaned into each other, chests heaving. Will’s fingers dug into Hannibal’s arms, leaving behind reddened imprints in his flesh.

He looked up then, gaze dark and hazy with desire. Those eyes held a hint of defiance even now, a challenge that sent a shiver through Hannibal.

Will's gaze never left Hannibal as he let his tongue slide languidly across his lips, letting a small drop of saliva fall. It was a deliberate, almost sinful gesture—a tease wrapped in a promise.

Hannibal’s eyes darkened, his breathing deepening as his grip on Will's hips tightened. The sight—the implication—damn him—had him gripping that thin veneer of control even tighter. He was close, so close, to losing himself completely.

He could feel the heat of Will's gaze, the subtle smirk on his lips.

"Come on"  Will murmured, voice low and rich with desire, "Show me just how unhinged I make you."

Hannibal's control snapped.

In one fluid motion, he pushed Will down onto the sofa, a hand pressed firmly against the center of his back. The shift in balance was unexpected, but it made something primal and possessive flare to life in Will—like he'd just gotten a glimpse of the animal beneath Hannibal's meticulous veneer.

He gasped, his body arching into the touch. His hands curled into the upholstery, desperate to hold onto something. Anything.

Hannibal's gaze ran over Will's form, taking in the arch of his spine, the flush of his skin. He felt predatory, dangerous—every nerve alive with barely contained need. In this position, Will was exposed, vulnerable in a way that made Hannibal's pulse quicken.

He leaned closer, the heat rolling off him in waves. "Look at you" he murmured, his voice rough with suppressed desire. "So exposed. So completely at my mercy."

Hannibal's lips found their way to Will's back, pressing soft but firm kisses along the exposed skin. He took his time, his movements deliberate and slow. Each kiss was a claim, an unspoken declaration of possession.

He could feel the shiver that ran through Will's body—the slight hitch in his breath—the way he pressed himself just a little harder against the touch. It fed the fire burning inside Hannibal, made him want to claim, consume.

Hannibal’s hands slid down Will’s back, tracing the curve of his spine with deliberate slowness—each touch a prelude, each breath a promise. When his fingers reached the swell of Will’s ass, they lingered, kneading gently, possessively.

A low moan escaped Will—raw and unfiltered—as he instinctively pushed back into the touch. Hannibal rewarded him with a firm squeeze.

Then his mouth followed.

A hot kiss landed just above one cheek—teasing at first—before trailing lower. His breath ghosted over heated skin, drawing another tremor from Will’s body.

“You’re trembling.” Hannibal murmured against him, voice thick with dark amusement. “So responsive.”

He nipped lightly—not enough to hurt—but just enough to make Will gasp and clench the cushions tighter.

“Tell me what you want.” he whispered into warm flesh. “Tell me where you want my mouth.”

Will's breath came in sharp gasps, his body coiled tight with desire. Hannibal's touch was driving him insane, pushing him closer and closer to the edge.

"Your mouth..." he managed, voice rough with want. "I want your mouth on me. Now."

He could feel Hannibal's laugh against the sensitive skin of his back, a low rumble that echoed through his body.

Hannibal’s lips curled into a smirk, dark and knowing. "Impatient again, Will?"

He pressed an open-mouthed kiss just above the cleft of Will’s ass—teasing, torturous—before finally parting him with slow, deliberate hands.

Then he lowered his mouth.

The first hot swipe of his tongue drew a broken cry from Will’s throat—a sound between a gasp and a sob—as pleasure arced through him like lightning. Hannibal groaned against him, the vibration maddeningly intense.

Yes, this was power.

Yes, this was worship.

And he wasn’t even close to finished.

Hannibal withdrew for a moment—the loss so sharp it made Will whine—only to return seconds later, now with the cold, wet press of a finger. Will shuddered, the intrusion thick and heavy. It stung, just the right side of pain. It was so much, and not enough.

Not enough, not nearly enough.

He leaned forward slowly, pressing his chest to Will’s back as he sank in deeper, inch by deliberate inch.

“Breathe.” Hannibal murmured against his ear—soft command cloaked in velvet. “Let me have all of you.”

Will shuddered, a broken sound escaping him as his body adjusted to Hannibal's cock. It was too much, it was perfect. The stretch burned sweetly; the pressure built something deep and feral inside him.

And then Hannibal moved.

Not fast.

Not hard.

But with such excruciating precision that Will arched off the sofa with a sob.

Will cried out, his head thrown back as Hannibal struck that one spot—deep and deliberate—sending white-hot pleasure exploding through him. His fingers tightened around Hannibal's, knuckles bone-white with the effort of holding on.

“God! Right there!” he gasped, voice cracking under the strain. “Don’t you dare stop!”

Hannibal let out a low chuckle—a dark, satisfied sound—before obeying. He began to move with purpose now: steady, controlled thrusts that hit the same devastating angle over and over.

Each one unraveled Will just a little more.

“I can feel you” Hannibal whispered against his neck, breath hot and ragged. “Clamping down… so tight… You were made for me.”

Will couldn't think.

He could only feel.

Will's breath catches, ragged and labored, like he's running for his life. He can feel Hannibal's hands on him, everywhere, in his mouth, in his stomach, in his lungs, in his very skin. He feels like he's unraveling, all his tightly coiled control coming undone under Hannibal's touch, and it's both exhilarating and terrifying all at once.

"Please..." he gasks, the word a desperate plea on his lips. "Please, Hannibal..."

Hannibal’s gaze burned like a brand as he leaned forward, his lips brushing against Will's ear.

"You sound so good like this..." he purred, voice a low, dangerous thrum. "So undone. Can you even remember what it's like to be in control?"

He punctuated the question with a twist of his hand, drawing a strangled cry from Will's throat. He was trembling now, every nerve ending on fire, completely at Hannibal's mercy.

"You're mine." Hannibal murmured, his free hand sliding up Will's chest. "Say it."̃

Will's breath came in sharp, ragged bursts. Hannibal's words—each one a brand searing into his soul—pushed him deeper into the haze of pleasure and surrender.

He fought for coherence, but there was nothing left but sensation—the relentless drive of Hannibal inside him, the tight grip on his cock, the hot breath at his ear.

And then… he broke.

"Yes" he gasped out between moans. "I'm yours."

The admission sent a shockwave through them both—Hannibal's rhythm faltering for just a second before resuming with renewed intensity.

"Always" Will choked out. "I'm yours… God help me… I’ve always been yours."

Hannibal lost the last thread of restraint.

His thrusts became harder, faster—relentless—each one driving Will deeper into the couch and higher toward oblivion. The air filled with the slick sound of skin on skin, punctuated by Will’s broken moans.

And his hand—oh, God, that hand—moved in perfect sync: tight, urgent strokes up and down Will’s length, matching the rhythm of his hips like a symphony composed in sin.

"Feel me." Hannibal growled against his back, voice rough with need. "Take it all. Let go."

Will couldn’t hold back any longer. His body tensed like a bowstring pulled too tight—he was burning up from within—

"I’m gonna—" he choked out.

"Yes" Hannibal snarled—and then—

He pushed him over the edge.

The intensity of their mutual climax, the overwhelming waves that washed over them in unison, left Will reeling, shaking apart and then coming back together in a jumble of limbs and breaths and flesh.

After a moment, Hannibal carefully pulled out, collapsing onto the couch next to him with a heavy sigh. He looked just as sated but, somehow, even more dangerous. "You're mine." he said softly, voice still ragged around the edges.

Will felt boneless, boneless and completely sated. He could still taste Hannibal on his tongue, and it sent a shiver down his spine. He knew he should be more alarmed at how easily he'd agreed, how willingly he'd given in. But right now... right now, he didn't care.

He rolled his head, meeting Hannibal's gaze. The intensity of those dark eyes shouldn't have been reassuring, but here, now, it was. "Yours" he echoed, voice hoarse.

And meant it.

Hannibal let out a satisfied hum, one hand reaching out to gently brush a stray strand of hair off Will's forehead. There was a possessive edge to the touch, even now.

"Good boy" he murmured, voice soft but still commanding. "You did so well for me."

Will could only manage a dry swallow in response, his body heavy with the aftermath of their passion.

Hannibal let out a huff that might have passed for laughter. "You look wrecked."