The way Hannibal asks, it brings back memories of many a conversation in Hannibal's office, seated across from each other in matching chairs or leant against Hannibal's desk or his book cases, pacing his floor. Back then Will's answer would have been carefully constructed, concealing as much as he was revealing, never enough to truly satisfy Hannibal's curiosity. It was a game between them, it always had been, like chess, giving a little, making it seem like a bigger sacrifice than it was, baiting and bluffing, thinking three moves ahead.
There's no reason to play here, not anymore. Laying in Hannibal's bed in Hannibal's Parisian apartment, Hannibal is inviting Will into his confessional, asking Will to admit to his desires, to those sins of the flesh he's considering committing with Hannibal right here, if not tonight then on another one not too far into their future. There's a vulnerability to it, but the rewards definitely outweigh the risks in this scenario.
"Wine," Will answers simply, the corner of his mouth twitching into the beginning of a wicked smile. "When you brought the glasses for some reason I thought of you bathing me in it," he goes on, lounging back against Hannibal's pillows, loose limbed and pliant. "Right here, pouring it down my throat, letting it run over my skin, almost red enough to be blood." It's not thick enough, obviously, but there's an aesthetic parallel.
"You," he adds after a moment, his eyes moving over Hannibal's naked body, lighting for a long moment on Hannibal's genitals, his flaccid cock hidden entirely inside his foreskin, the heavy sway of his scrotum. "I'm thirty for you," Will repeats, his eyes lifting to Hannibal's face. "I've never desired a man before," he admits, though he knows it isn't a revelation for either of them. "I want to learn how to pleasure you, what you enjoy the most, how you like to be touched."
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Date: 2016-03-14 08:02 am (UTC)There's no reason to play here, not anymore. Laying in Hannibal's bed in Hannibal's Parisian apartment, Hannibal is inviting Will into his confessional, asking Will to admit to his desires, to those sins of the flesh he's considering committing with Hannibal right here, if not tonight then on another one not too far into their future. There's a vulnerability to it, but the rewards definitely outweigh the risks in this scenario.
"Wine," Will answers simply, the corner of his mouth twitching into the beginning of a wicked smile. "When you brought the glasses for some reason I thought of you bathing me in it," he goes on, lounging back against Hannibal's pillows, loose limbed and pliant. "Right here, pouring it down my throat, letting it run over my skin, almost red enough to be blood." It's not thick enough, obviously, but there's an aesthetic parallel.
"You," he adds after a moment, his eyes moving over Hannibal's naked body, lighting for a long moment on Hannibal's genitals, his flaccid cock hidden entirely inside his foreskin, the heavy sway of his scrotum. "I'm thirty for you," Will repeats, his eyes lifting to Hannibal's face. "I've never desired a man before," he admits, though he knows it isn't a revelation for either of them. "I want to learn how to pleasure you, what you enjoy the most, how you like to be touched."