Will's moan is acknowledged by the tightening of the fabric across his throat, gently tugged tighter and tighter until Will's breathing is hindered just a little, the act of swallowing likewise encumbered. Otherwise Hannibal doesn't move, his cock buried deep inside Will's body, his breathing measured and even.
He hasn't changed his mind, Will knows that without question, and he's not planning to kill Will, at least not outright. But there is a tacit understanding that he could, that in this position Will wouldn't even be able to fight him. Hannibal is exhibiting his power here, his ownership of Will's continued existence. However this proceeds, Hannibal's already said how it will end. Almost everything in Will trusts that, once everything goes black, eventually he'll reawaken, they'll dress and feed Will's dogs, then disappear together. But there's a flicker of doubt, the part of Will that knows how easily Hannibal can lie and deceived, how willing he is to change his mind halfway between point a and point b. And Will won't be able to do anything to stop it if Hannibal decides to deprive Will of oxygen longer than he's said he will. He'll just never wake up again.
Maybe this is a moment for Will to make a choice. Perhaps if he says he can't do this Hannibal will stop, though, considering how far they've gone, he can't see it happening. It's more likely a pronouncement, time for contemplating the situation Will's let himself come to be in. So he takes a breath, and he lets resignation fall down around him. These might well be his last moments on Earth, and there's no turning back, so he might as well let himself enjoy the pleasure of the sex they're about to have.
Hannibal must be able to sense that he's come to terms with what this might mean, because his fingers go tense on Will's hip and he begins to move. The first withdrawal is easy, but that's the last moment it is, the thrust forward brutal and bone wrenching, each one afterward just as hard. Hannibal's pelvis collides with Will's ass with enough force to bruise them both, the width of Hannibal's cock splitting Will down the middle. At first it's all splintering pain, burning as his body is abused, but as before the pain begins to give way to pleasure, and soon Will is calling out with each new penetration, his voice catching as he chokes on the tie around his neck.
He feels like he's outside himself, detached enough to hear Hannibal's harsh breathing, each exhalation a grunt of effort and ecstasy, to feel the way his dick and balls sway each time their bodies collide, the tense and aching muscles in his thighs, his shoulders, pushing back to meet Hannibal every time. And of course the stretch, his hole swollen but clenching around Hannibal's cock inside him, the rub of Hannibal over internal parts of Will that feel almost as good as touching himself. The pleasure of it all is wrapped tightly around him, and between the headiness of the endorphins flooding his system and the short supply of oxygen Hannibal allows him, Will's orgasm is dangerously close to the surface already, even without a single touch to the erection throbbing between his thighs.
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He hasn't changed his mind, Will knows that without question, and he's not planning to kill Will, at least not outright. But there is a tacit understanding that he could, that in this position Will wouldn't even be able to fight him. Hannibal is exhibiting his power here, his ownership of Will's continued existence. However this proceeds, Hannibal's already said how it will end. Almost everything in Will trusts that, once everything goes black, eventually he'll reawaken, they'll dress and feed Will's dogs, then disappear together. But there's a flicker of doubt, the part of Will that knows how easily Hannibal can lie and deceived, how willing he is to change his mind halfway between point a and point b. And Will won't be able to do anything to stop it if Hannibal decides to deprive Will of oxygen longer than he's said he will. He'll just never wake up again.
Maybe this is a moment for Will to make a choice. Perhaps if he says he can't do this Hannibal will stop, though, considering how far they've gone, he can't see it happening. It's more likely a pronouncement, time for contemplating the situation Will's let himself come to be in. So he takes a breath, and he lets resignation fall down around him. These might well be his last moments on Earth, and there's no turning back, so he might as well let himself enjoy the pleasure of the sex they're about to have.
Hannibal must be able to sense that he's come to terms with what this might mean, because his fingers go tense on Will's hip and he begins to move. The first withdrawal is easy, but that's the last moment it is, the thrust forward brutal and bone wrenching, each one afterward just as hard. Hannibal's pelvis collides with Will's ass with enough force to bruise them both, the width of Hannibal's cock splitting Will down the middle. At first it's all splintering pain, burning as his body is abused, but as before the pain begins to give way to pleasure, and soon Will is calling out with each new penetration, his voice catching as he chokes on the tie around his neck.
He feels like he's outside himself, detached enough to hear Hannibal's harsh breathing, each exhalation a grunt of effort and ecstasy, to feel the way his dick and balls sway each time their bodies collide, the tense and aching muscles in his thighs, his shoulders, pushing back to meet Hannibal every time. And of course the stretch, his hole swollen but clenching around Hannibal's cock inside him, the rub of Hannibal over internal parts of Will that feel almost as good as touching himself. The pleasure of it all is wrapped tightly around him, and between the headiness of the endorphins flooding his system and the short supply of oxygen Hannibal allows him, Will's orgasm is dangerously close to the surface already, even without a single touch to the erection throbbing between his thighs.