Hannibal looks predatory when he unfurls himself from where he's been resting between Will's thighs, crawling up over Will like a big cat, ready to lunge at the throat of its quarry. And though Will wouldn't mind feeling Hannibal's teeth, he's glad to feel the hunger of Hannibal's bite against his mouth instead, teeth held back as Hannibal gives Will his lips and tongue.
Will's never been kissed like this, the pressure so heavily sustained, the taste and texture of him savored, attention paid to him like that Hannibal pays to food and wine. It's like Hannibal's sampling him every time, and Will loses himself in it, disconnecting from reality in a way he doesn't usually when he's not getting into someone's head.
His mind is full of Hannibal, but not his calculated words. Will, too, is experiencing Hannibal, noticing the way Hannibal tastes, how his tongue feels when it pushes deeply into Will's mouth, the faint scrub of Hannibal's stubble against Will's own, the way Hannibal catches Will's upper lip when the kiss ebbs only to sink back in again after they've both caught quick breaths. He's listening to each small sound Hannibal makes, breaths and soft grunts of desire, low like growls in his chest. He's feeling the way Hannibal's body moves against him, Hannibal's pelvis slotted into the cradle of Will's thighs, their cocks, hard and heavy, pressed side by side between their abdomens, Hannibal's chest hair brushing Will's skin intermittently and making Will shiver at the sensation of it.
Hannibal is supporting most of his own weight on his arms, and Will isn't sure if he's intentionally holding himself away, but Will wants to feel Hannibal pressing him down into the expensive sheets. He slides his palms over Hannibal's shoulders to cup his scapulas, arching his chest up as he tugs, trying to urge Hannibal down. His mind flashes with images, of the two of them coming together, of Hannibal filling Will up again, but face to face here in their bed in Paris. He has no idea if Hannibal has any extra linens stored here, but he thinks about the mess they could make here, just from their sweat and come, fucking for hours. Neither of them have the endurance for that now, so many hours without sleep, but if Will can't have hours, he at least wants to burn off the last few ounces of energy they have like this, giving everything until there's nothing left and they collapse where they are, sleeping without any worry about when they'll have to wake again.
no subject
Will's never been kissed like this, the pressure so heavily sustained, the taste and texture of him savored, attention paid to him like that Hannibal pays to food and wine. It's like Hannibal's sampling him every time, and Will loses himself in it, disconnecting from reality in a way he doesn't usually when he's not getting into someone's head.
His mind is full of Hannibal, but not his calculated words. Will, too, is experiencing Hannibal, noticing the way Hannibal tastes, how his tongue feels when it pushes deeply into Will's mouth, the faint scrub of Hannibal's stubble against Will's own, the way Hannibal catches Will's upper lip when the kiss ebbs only to sink back in again after they've both caught quick breaths. He's listening to each small sound Hannibal makes, breaths and soft grunts of desire, low like growls in his chest. He's feeling the way Hannibal's body moves against him, Hannibal's pelvis slotted into the cradle of Will's thighs, their cocks, hard and heavy, pressed side by side between their abdomens, Hannibal's chest hair brushing Will's skin intermittently and making Will shiver at the sensation of it.
Hannibal is supporting most of his own weight on his arms, and Will isn't sure if he's intentionally holding himself away, but Will wants to feel Hannibal pressing him down into the expensive sheets. He slides his palms over Hannibal's shoulders to cup his scapulas, arching his chest up as he tugs, trying to urge Hannibal down. His mind flashes with images, of the two of them coming together, of Hannibal filling Will up again, but face to face here in their bed in Paris. He has no idea if Hannibal has any extra linens stored here, but he thinks about the mess they could make here, just from their sweat and come, fucking for hours. Neither of them have the endurance for that now, so many hours without sleep, but if Will can't have hours, he at least wants to burn off the last few ounces of energy they have like this, giving everything until there's nothing left and they collapse where they are, sleeping without any worry about when they'll have to wake again.