Will finds it entirely impossible to keep himself still and quiet while Hannibal touches him like this, speaks to him about how long Hannibal's found him attractive. He trembles as Hannibal strokes him, just enough to tease in the most maddening way, just enough pleasure and friction that Will wants to chase it, knowing he needs to wait.
He takes a long, shuddering breath when Hannibal begins to tell him about the night Matthew Brown came to carry out Will's command, the favor he'd requested, his mouth going dry. Jack had killed Matthew that night, and Will had never heard the story of what Matthew had done, not in so many lurid details. Even back when Hannibal had first confronted Will about it what he'd done, Will had gotten the impression that Hannibal was more proud than angry, only disappointed in that Will hadn't tried to kill him with his own hands. It's very clear now there was more than pride involved, that Will's attempt on Hannibal's life, even through a surrogate, had aroused Hannibal utterly.
Will thinks back to Hannibal's house in Baltimore (it feels like it was weeks ago they were last there, rather than hours), about how Hannibal had strangled him just as he'd rolled over the crest of his orgasm, the act of Hannibal throttling him adding to the intensity of it, the ecstasy, one second away from being Hannibal's next murder victim. He groans as it comes together, as Hannibal drops his warm, wet, talented mouth down over Will's cock, his fingers curving and pressing, fingernails biting into the thin skin at Hannibal's nape. Hannibal answers with the drag of his teeth, sharp enough to serve as a warning, a promise, and Will mewls, just shy of begging for whatever Hannibal is threatening.
They are just alike. They both yearn for death in a way that makes life all the more sweeter, more pungent. The idea of being torn apart by Hannibal's hands makes Will's entire body go hot and tight, and thinking about doing the same to Hannibal causes Will to curse lowly, overwhelmed with desire.
"I wish I could have seen it," he says roughly. "What you looked like, strung up, caught, choking," he goes on, his voice breaking with need, head tipped to watch Hannibal's mouth moving over him. "Fuck, bleeding," he manages to finish, his fingers moving to cradle the back of Hannibal's head, fingers twisting into Hannibal's hair. "I bet you were fucking beautiful," he admits thickly, and he thinks about if he had the chance to do it himself, to make it his design, how he would do it, what image he'd leave behind.
"I want to scar you," he says suddenly, the idea making his skin flush darkly. He knows about the ones on Hannibal's wrists, his by proxy, but he wants to make his own, ones he cut into Hannibal's flesh. "I want you to do the same to me. I want, I want to be marked by you. I want you to see it and remember, remember what you do to me, what I want you to do."
no subject
He takes a long, shuddering breath when Hannibal begins to tell him about the night Matthew Brown came to carry out Will's command, the favor he'd requested, his mouth going dry. Jack had killed Matthew that night, and Will had never heard the story of what Matthew had done, not in so many lurid details. Even back when Hannibal had first confronted Will about it what he'd done, Will had gotten the impression that Hannibal was more proud than angry, only disappointed in that Will hadn't tried to kill him with his own hands. It's very clear now there was more than pride involved, that Will's attempt on Hannibal's life, even through a surrogate, had aroused Hannibal utterly.
Will thinks back to Hannibal's house in Baltimore (it feels like it was weeks ago they were last there, rather than hours), about how Hannibal had strangled him just as he'd rolled over the crest of his orgasm, the act of Hannibal throttling him adding to the intensity of it, the ecstasy, one second away from being Hannibal's next murder victim. He groans as it comes together, as Hannibal drops his warm, wet, talented mouth down over Will's cock, his fingers curving and pressing, fingernails biting into the thin skin at Hannibal's nape. Hannibal answers with the drag of his teeth, sharp enough to serve as a warning, a promise, and Will mewls, just shy of begging for whatever Hannibal is threatening.
They are just alike. They both yearn for death in a way that makes life all the more sweeter, more pungent. The idea of being torn apart by Hannibal's hands makes Will's entire body go hot and tight, and thinking about doing the same to Hannibal causes Will to curse lowly, overwhelmed with desire.
"I wish I could have seen it," he says roughly. "What you looked like, strung up, caught, choking," he goes on, his voice breaking with need, head tipped to watch Hannibal's mouth moving over him. "Fuck, bleeding," he manages to finish, his fingers moving to cradle the back of Hannibal's head, fingers twisting into Hannibal's hair. "I bet you were fucking beautiful," he admits thickly, and he thinks about if he had the chance to do it himself, to make it his design, how he would do it, what image he'd leave behind.
"I want to scar you," he says suddenly, the idea making his skin flush darkly. He knows about the ones on Hannibal's wrists, his by proxy, but he wants to make his own, ones he cut into Hannibal's flesh. "I want you to do the same to me. I want, I want to be marked by you. I want you to see it and remember, remember what you do to me, what I want you to do."